


Poltergeist II:  Benjy's Story

by pkmoonshine



Series: Bloodlines [5]
Category: Bonanza
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Family Drama, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 80,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pkmoonshine/pseuds/pkmoonshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam's two children arrive in the company of their maternal grandmother to join their parents for a summer vacation on the Ponderosa. Their arrival sets off a chain of frightening, inexplicable events very similar to incidents that happened many years ago. "Poltergeist II: Benjy's Story" takes place soon after the events that transpired in "Sacrificial Lamb," and includes the addition of several non-cannon characters. Though this story may be considered a sequel to my story "Poltergeist," it can and does stand independently.</p><p>All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are property of their respective owners.  The original characters and plot are property of the author.   The author is not in any way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise, and makes no money from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Virginia City, Folks,” the stagecoach driver curtly announced, as he opened the door. “We leave for Carson City, soon as we change horses.”  
   
Several of the passengers rose and began to push toward the door, among them Dolores Elizabeth Cartwright, better known to family and friends as Dio, all of eight years old for nearly a whole month now. A firm, restraining hand on her forearm literally gave her pause. She turned and found herself staring into the exasperated face of her maternal grandmother, Dolores di Cordova.  
   
“Sit DOWN, Dio.”

“But---!?”

“I SAID sit down! We’ll get off after the other passengers.”  
   
Dio sighed and crawled back up onto the seat next to Dolores, while her older brother, seated on the other side of their grandmother, quietly and very pointedly returned his attention to the book lying open on his lap. She sat demurely, with hands folded in her lap, for less than the space of a heartbeat, then abruptly pulled her dangling legs up onto the seat. She was across the seat, at the open window an instant later, leaning out as far as her limber body could stretch, eagerly scanning the sea of faces, waiting at the depot.  
   
“THERE!” she cried, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. “THERE THEY ARE!” She thrust her arm forward, pointing toward three familiar, much loved faces. “I SEE MOMMY, AND DADDY, AND GRANDPA!”

Dolores di Cordova groaned inwardly. “Dolores Elizabeth Cartwright, would you PLEASE sit down!?” she ordered. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t point like that! It’s terribly rude.”  
   
Dio somehow managed to lean even farther out the window as the next to last passenger, an elderly woman leaning heavily on a solid, mahogany wood cane started from the coach. “HI, MOMMY! HI, DADDY! HI, GRANDPA! WE’RE HERE!” she shouted at the top of her voice, while enthusiastically waving both arms over her head.  
   
Dolores seized her exuberant granddaughter by the waist and dragged her back inside the stagecoach. “I TOLD you to sit down,” she said through clenched teeth as she forcibly sat Dio back down on the seat.  
   
“But, Grand-maaaa-hhh . . . . ”  
   
“Now!”  
   
Dio fidgeted and gazed longingly out the window, while the elderly woman took forever and a year to disembark, even with the driver and another man helping. So it seemed to her, anyway! The last passenger, a man much younger and far sprightlier, quickly exited after the old woman. Then, before her grandmother could even think to stop her, Dio herself was gone, out of the stagecoach like a shot, running headlong toward her parents, Adam and Teresa Cartwright, and Ben Cartwright, her grandfather.  
   
Dolores threw up her hands and shook her head. That child, half her namesake, never tired. The more energy she used, the more her endlessly abundant reserves seemed to grow. She turned to her young grandson, still sitting quietly on the seat beside her with his hands folded atop his book, now closed. “Come along, Benjy,” she said in a kindlier tone.  
   
“Yes, Grandmother.” Benjamin Eduardo Cartwright, named for his grandfathers and best known as Benjy, rose and dutifully hung back, allowing Dolores to exit the stagecoach first. After making certain his grandmother stood safely on terra firma, Benjy moved out of the coach and prepared to step down.  
   
“Careful, Young Man,” the driver cautioned, extending a hand. “It’s a big step down.”  
   
“Thank you, Sir,” Benjy murmured, “but I can manage.”  
   
Dio, meanwhile, zigzagged through the gathered crowd, toward her paternal grandfather, now crouched down to her level with arms open to welcome. Dio threw herself into Ben’s arms and hugged tight. “Oh, Grandpa, Grandpa, I’m so glad to see you!”  
   
“ . . . and I’M glad to see YOU, too, Young Lady,” Ben declared smiling, delighted if a trifle overwhelmed by his young granddaughter’s exuberance. He slipped his arms around Dio and held her close.  
   
“Well, Teresa, I see how WE rate,” Adam remarked to his wife sotto voce, while favoring their daughter and his father with an indulgent smile.  
   
“Grandpa?”  
   
“Yes, Dio?”  
   
“Is it true I’m going to learn how to ride?”  
   
“Would you like that?”  
   
“Oh, yes, Grandpa, yes, yes, YES! More ‘n anything!”  
   
“Then learn to ride you shall!” Ben earnestly promised, favoring Dio with a warm, affectionate smile. “In fact the young woman who’s going to teach you is right here . . . . ” Keeping one arm firmly around his high-spirited granddaughter, Ben turned and extended his other hand toward his daughter, Stacy, who stood next to the buckboard with Joe, the youngest of her three older brothers.  
   
Smiling, Stacy walked over to join her father and her young niece.  
   
“Dio, this is your Aunt Stacy,” Ben said taking his daughter’s hand in his and drawing her into their circle. “Stacy, this is your niece, Dio.”  
   
“Are you really going to teach me to ride?” Dio asked, shifting her attention from Ben to Stacy.  
   
“Yes, I am.”  
   
“Can we start today? When we get home?”  
   
“Dio, you need to get yourself unpacked and settled,” Teresa said firmly. “I think tomorrow will be soon enough.”  
   
“Aww, Mommy, please?”  
   
“Dio, your ma’s right,” Stacy said quietly. “Tell you what? If it’s alright with your ma, you can ride back to the house with me on Blaze Face.”  
   
“Oh, Mommy, can I? Can I please?”  
   
Teresa smiled. “Yes, you may, Dio.”  
   
“Thank you, Mommy!” Dio turned and threw her arms around Teresa’s waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”  
   
“You’re welcome, Sweetheart,” Teresa said with an indulgent smile. “Now I want you to do me a favor.”  
   
“OK, Mommy.”  
   
“Your grandmother and brother are over by the stage looking a little lost, so I’m going to go get them. I want you to stay here with Grandpa and Aunt Stacy. All right?”  
   
“I will, Mommy,” Dio eagerly promised.  
   
“I’d better see to the luggage,” Adam said.  
   
   
   
“Hello, Mother, I missed you,” Benjy greeted his mother with a weary smile. He slipped his arms around Teresa’s waist and gave her a gentle, affectionate squeeze.

“I missed you, too, Benjy.” Teresa hugged her son close for a moment, then bent down and placed a kiss on top of his head.

“Muuu-therrrr . . . . ” Benjy groaned.

“Mother’s prerogative,” Teresa said favoring him with a warm loving smile. She hugged him again, then held him apart from herself, just enough to gaze down into his face and eyes. “How were your grades?”  
   
Benjy’s eyes immediately dropped to his feet. “N-not so good I’m afraid.”  
   
“Oh?”  
   
“I tried, Mother. Honest! I did! I really did, but--- ” He shrugged helplessly.  
   
Teresa studied her son’s face briefly, with a bewildered frown. That tell-tale catch in his voice and the unusual brightness of his eyes, round as saucers and that fixed stare, told her that Benjy was on the edge of tears. “Benjy?” she probed gently. “Is everything all right?”  
   
“Fine, Mother.” His response was too quick.

“Don’t worry, Teresa,” Dolores said, upon taking note of the worried frown on her daughter’s face. “The boy’s probably exhausted. I know I am! I had forgotten just how much of a handful Dio can be!” Her last comment was spoken with a touch of asperity and a withering glare cast in her granddaughter’s general direction.  
   
“Oh dear!” Teresa sighed. “I’ll have a talk with her when we reach the house.”  
   
“Oh, no, Teresa, no! Not on the account of a travel weary, cranky old woman!” Dolores immediately protested, holding up her hands in front of her as if signaling a rider or driver to stop. “Dio’s not a bad child, just full of life, that’s all. Very much like her mother was at the same tender age. Of course I was a lot younger and more energetic myself back then.”  
   
Benjy glared daggers at his sister, standing over by the station with their paternal grandfather and a young woman, not very much older, whom he had correctly assumed to be Aunt Stacy. His mother and maternal grandmother, meanwhile, embraced enthusiastically and for a moment held each other tight.  
   
“Tell you what, Mother,” Teresa said, keeping one arm firmly about her mother’s waist, “when we get back to the house, why don’t you let ME unpack your things while YOU indulge yourself in a nice hot bath and maybe a nap.”  
   
“Bath and a nap!” Dolores looked over at her daughter and smiled. “MUSIC to the ears of a cranky, travel weary old woman!”  
   
They moved together, arm in arm, through to crowd toward Ben, now on his feet and waving at the two of them enthusiastically. Benjy sighed softly, and dutifully fell in behind them.  
   
“Mrs. di Cordova, it’s wonderful seeing you again,” Ben greeted his eldest son’s mother-in-law with a warm smile.  
   
“Ben Cartwright, WHEN are you going to learn to call me Dolores?” she demanded with mock severity.  
   
“I’m very sorry, M—uhh, DOLORES.”  
   
“That’s MUCH better!”  
   
“Teresa?”  
   
“Yes, Ben?”  
   
“Adam and Joe have gone to fetch the luggage, and Stacy’s taken Dio over to the buckboard to meet Blaze Face.”  
   
“It would seem those two have hit it off very well,” Teresa remarked, observing the animated interaction between Stacy and Dio.  
   
“I hope Dio doesn’t run Aunt Stacy ragged,” Dolores remarked with a wry smile.  
   
“Stacy’s pretty energetic herself, Dolores,” Ben said, favoring daughter and granddaughter with an indulgent smile. “I dare say it’ll be a toss up as to who runs who ragged.”  
   
“This I’VE got to see!” Dolores declared with an emphatic nod of her head.  
   
Ben’s eyes moved beyond Teresa, lingering on the quiet young boy, the top of whose head almost reached his mother’s shoulders. He stood behind his mother, his hands at his side, with book firmly clasped in his left hand. “Well! Is this Benjy?” he said by way of greeting, favoring his young grandson with a warm smile.  
   
“Benjy, what are you doing back there?” Teresa chided him with a smile as she reached around and drew him gently forward. “Come say hello to your grandfather.”  
   
“Hello, Grandpa.” The boy greeted him stiffly, and held out his hand.  
   
“Hello, Benjy.” Ben respectfully shook Benjy’s hand. “You know . . . I could almost swear you’ve grown some more since I saw you last, back in October.”  
   
“I . . . I, well, m-maybe, a little, I s’pose . . . . ”  
   
Ben immediately noted his grandson’s unusually pale complexion. He silently studied the boy with an anxious frown. “Benjy?”  
   
“Yes, Grandpa?”  
   
“You all right?”  
   
“Yes, Grandpa, I’m fine. Just a little tired, I guess.”  
   
“Well, it HAS been a long trip . . . and not over the best of roads, either,” Ben said, not without sympathy. “We’ll have you out to the house as soon as your father and Uncle Joe finish putting the luggage in the buckboard.”  
   
“Pa?” It was Joe. “We just got through putting the small stuff in the buckboard. Adam’s arranging to have the trunks delivered out to the house later this afternoon.”  
   
“Joe Cartwright, is that really you?”  
   
Joe smiled and politely tipped his hat. “Mrs. di Cordova, I presume?”  
   
“I haven’t seen you OR your brother since the wedding!” Dolores chided him with mock severity. “It’s been eleven years, Young Man . . . almost TWELVE! Do you realize that?!”

“You joshin’ me, Ma’am?”

“No!” Dolores snapped, trying her best not to smile. “I am in earnest.”

“Um, um, UMM!” Joe grunted softly, and shook his head. “Eleven going on twelve years! I can’t believe it!”

“Believe it, Scamp!” Dolores returned. “Now! Before I leave for home you and your brother . . . . ” She frowned. “Oh dear! I’m afraid your brother’s name has just flown right out of my head.”

“Hoss, Ma’am.”

“Hoss. Before I leave for home, you and Hoss are going to give me a firm date.”

“Firm date?! . . . uhhh, firm date for WHAT, exactly?”

“For when YOU and HOSS are going to come visit me in Sacramento,” Dolores said in a stern tone that brooked no difference of opinion on the matter in any way, shape, or form. “I expect you to bring your sister along, too.”

“I wish you the best of luck, Dolores,” Adam quipped as he stepped in along side his mother-in-law. “I’VE been trying to pin these brothers of mine down to a date ever since the wedding, myself.”

Joe exhaled an overly melodramatic, long-suffering sigh, and shook his head. “Would someone please . . . PUH-LEEZE . . . tell me . . . what EVER happened to ‘hello, Joe. I’m so glad to see you. How have you been?’ ”

“Scamp!” Dolores snapped, upon noting the impish delight sparkling in his emerald green eyes.

“Everything taken care of, Adam?” Ben asked.  
   
Adam nodded, then turned toward his mother-in-law. “The trunks will be delivered to the house this afternoon, Dolores . . . sometime between three and four o’clock.”  
   
“Thank you, Adam,” she murmured gratefully.  
   
“We ready to go home?” Ben asked.  
   
“I can’t speak for anyone else, Ben, but I know I certainly am,” Dolores immediately replied. “That hot bath and nap Teresa promised me look better and better with each passing moment.”  
   
Ben and Joe, both smiling warmly, turned and gallantly offered their arms to Dolores. She accepted the proffered arms of both father and son, returning their smiles with a gracious one of her own. Adam and Teresa fell in step close behind, a little to the right. Benjy brought up the rear, following at a slower pace.

Joe cast a quick, furtive glance over his shoulder. “Pa . . . Mrs. di Cordova, would you please excuse me?” He inclined his head undetectably behind him.  
   
Ben nodded, understanding. “Certainly, Joe . . . by all means.”  
   
Joe turned and walked back toward his young nephew. “Hello, Benjy,” he greeted the boy with a broad grin as he fell in step beside him. “I’m your Uncle Joe . . . your pa’s youngest brother.” He held out his hand.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Uncle Joe,” Benjy murmured politely, as the pair shook hands.  
   
Joe tried not to wince in the face of the boy’s stiff, formal manners. “Benjy, seeing as how YOUR sister’s riding home with MY sister on her horse, Blaze Face, I was wondering if you might like to ride home with me on Cochise. He’s the pinto over there, tethered to the buckboard.”  
   
“ . . . uuhhh, w-which one is the pinto?” Benjy ventured hesitantly.  
   
“He’s the handsome black and white one,” Joe replied with a proud smile.  
   
Benjy stared at Cochise long and hard. “I . . . uh . . . no!” He shook his head vigorously. “Thank you for asking me, Uncle Joe, but I don’t think I’d better.”  
   
An anxious frown knotted Joe’s brow, as he noted the boy’s pale face and trembling hands. “You okay, Benjy?”  
   
Benjy sighed. If he could have but one wish, it would be that everyone would stop asking him that question. He looked up into Joe’s face, his dark brown eyes, meeting his uncle’s hazel ones. “I’m fine, Uncle Joe, except for being a little tired, you know . . . from the trip.”  
   
Joe smiled knowingly. “Over land by stage can be pretty exhausting, that’s for dang sure,” he heartily agreed, “and with having that sister of yours along for the ride . . . . ” He grimaced and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know about YOU, Benjy, but I’m getting tired just watching her.”  
   
“Yeah,” Benjy sighed again, wondering why everyone had to be watching Dio all the time.  
 

 

After everyone had finished their supper, Hop Sing banished the family from the dining room. “Go,” he urged, not so gently. “Sit. By fireplace. Hop Sing bring coffee, then after Hop Sing clear table, bring dessert.”

Hoss’ eyes lit up at the mention of dessert. “Ummm, UMM! I sure hope it’s one o’ your apple pies,” he said, licking his chops in anticipation, while gallantly holding Dolores’ chair while she rose from her place at the table. “I been hankerin’ after a big chunk o’ good, hot apple pie for nigh on a month o’ Sundays now.”

“No apple pie,” Hop Sing immediately returned, the smug, secretive Mona Lisa smile on his face, giving lie to his harsh tone of voice. “Special dessert.”

“Special dessert, ‘ey?” Hoss grinned, then all of a sudden his face fell. “Uhhh oh . . . Hop Sing,” he continued, as his initial consternation gave way to a withering baleful glare, “this special dessert o’ yours ain’t another one o’ them cakes made outta that funny French soundin’ cheese . . . is it?”

“Neufchatel?” Adam queried, mildly surprised, with eyebrow slightly upraised.

“Special dessert not cheese cake,” [1] Hop Sing promised. “Special dessert surprise.” With that, he turned heed and sauntered off into the kitchen, humming very softly under his breath.

“ . . . and after we got through stabling Blaze Face?” Dio blithely rambled on, her eyes shining with excitement, as the family moved en masse toward the furniture grouped around the fireplace. “Aunt Stacy took me to meet Guinevere and Gentleman Jim. Guinevere’s gonna be MY horse.”

She effortlessly skipped in circles around Adam and Teresa as she spoke. Though her remarks were directed primarily toward her parents, she stole an occasional glance over at Benjy, who walked a little apart from the rest of the family, with his book tucked under his arm.

“Where in the world does she get it all?” Joe wondered aloud, awed and delighted by the child’s abundant display of energy.

“I remember asking the same question myself years ago . . . about a certain young fella, ‘way back when HE was about her age,” Ben said, as he momentarily placed his arm about his youngest son’s shoulders and affectionately squeezed.

“Whaddya mean ‘way back?!” Joe demanded in mock outrage.

“Hey! If the shoe fits, GRANDPA . . . . ”

“Pa . . . . ” Joe groaned. The impish sparkle in his eyes wasn’t lost for one minute on his father or the sister, who had just moved in next to him on his other side. “I know you’re a busy man . . . a VERY busy man most days, therefore, I gladly volunteer to step up to the plate and teach YOUR daughter a few basic lessons in giving proper respect to her elders.” He turned and favored Stacy with a glare so comically ferocious, Ben found it very difficult to maintain a straight face.

“You and what army, Grandpa?” Stacy quipped with a saucy grin. “Assuming, of course the lot of you can catch me in the first place?”

Joe immediately responded by sticking out his tongue, prompting a like response from Stacy.

Unbeknownst to Ben, Joe, or Stacy, their remarks drew a sharp glance from Benjy, as he seated himself on the hearth, placing himself as far away from his exuberant sister as he possibly could. “Sisters!” he muttered very softly, punctuating that exclamation with an exasperated sigh.

Hop Sing served coffee to the adults and a couple of tall glasses of cold milk to the children, after everyone had gotten themselves comfortably settled, then set to work clearing the table.

“Aunt Stacy says Guinevere ‘n Gentleman Jim are the nicest horses Grandpa has,” Dio continued her stream of non-stop chatter, “ ‘n you know what?”

“No, Princess . . . what?” Adam asked.

“Guinevere is Gentleman Jim’s ma,” Dio said, rising from her seat on the hearth, near the blue chair occupied by her mother. “ ‘N ya wanna know what ELSE?”

“What else?” Adam prompted.

“Aunt Stacy says Guinevere’s Blaze Face’s ma, too,” Dio said, “but Blaze Face is her last foal. That’s a baby horse, Pa.”

“Papa KNOWS that a foal’s a baby horse, Stupid!” Benjy desperately wanted to scream. “He grew up here, after all . . . . ” He very pointedly turned his back to his sister, as much as he feasibly could, before angrily slamming his book down in his lap and throwing it open.

Dio began to shift her weight slowly from one foot to the next. “Aunt Stacy said Grandpa’s put . . . that he’s put . . . he’s put Guinevere . . . . ” She frowned, trying to recall the exact words her aunt had used.

“Perhaps the words you’re looking for are ‘out to pasture,’ ” Adam kindly suggested. He stood next to the blue chair with coffee cup and saucer in hand.

Dio’s face immediately lit up with a bright, beautiful smile, very much like her mother’s that at the same time, clearly showed forth her father’s dimples. “Yeah! That’s it! Aunt Stacy said Grandpa put Guinevere out to pasture!” she all but squealed. “How’d YOU know that, Pa?”

 _“He grew UP here . . . remember?”_ Benjy silently groused, after having read over that last paragraph for what had to be the fifth, maybe even sixth time. It was sickening enough having to watch Mother and Papa fawn over her all the time, but having to watch Grandpa and Grandmother do the same was BEYOND enough . . . and to make things even worse . . . Uncle Hoss and Uncle Joe kept looking up from their checker game.

“Guinevere’s gonna be MY horse,” Dio continued. She had wandered over and plopped herself down on the footstool at her mother’s feet. “ ‘N, Benjy?”

There was no reply.

“Benjy . . . . ”

Still no reply, save for the soft sound of a page being turned.

“BENJY!”

Benjy glanced up with an exasperated sigh. “Dio, can’t you see I’m trying to read?!” he demanded irascibly.

“Guess what?”  
   
Benjy sighed, thoroughly exasperated, yet with air of fatalistic resignation. “What?” he said, not bothering to look up from the book lying open on his lap.  
   
“You gotta guess,” Dio said.  
   
“I CAN’T guess,” he said stiffly, all the while wishing she would, for once in her life, just shut-up and go away.  
   
“Aww . . . come ON, Benjy,” she whined. “You gotta try ‘n guess.”  
   
“Dio, I DON’T know,” Benjy said cantankerously, while leveling a dark, angry glare in his sister’s general direction. “If it’s so all fired important, then just TELL me.”  
   
“Ok.” A smug, triumphant smile slowly oozed its way across her lips. “Aunt Stacy said Gentleman Jim’s gonna be YOUR horse.”  
   
Benjy’s sudden, sharp intake of air drew everyone’s attention. His complexion, normally fair like his father’s, had turned a sickly ashen gray within a matter of seconds. His dark eyes, now round as saucers, darted from his sister’s face, to his parents’, then settled on Aunt Stacy’s, like the eyes of a wild animal, caught in a trap from which there was no hope of escape. His book slipped from his hands and landed on the floor with a dull thud.  
   
“Benjy,” Stacy, who sat on the settee sandwiched between Joe and Dolores di Cordova, favored her nephew with a reassuring smile, “Gentleman Jim is as his name says. He’s a perfect gentleman. Obedient, very calm, and very docile! He’s an excellent horse for a beginning rider . . . as is his mother, Guinevere.”  
   
“Benjy?”  
   
The boy’s eyes moved warily back toward his sister. “Now wh-what?”  
   
Dio’s smile never wavered. “Aunt Stacy said we can start learning how to ride tomorrow, IF it’s all right with Ma and Pa.”

Before Adam or Teresa had a chance to reply, Hop Sing returned to the great room, bearing a cake, iced with a rich, chocolate butter cream frosting. Eight candles, set in a circle on top burned brightly in the dimly lit room.

“Happy birthday to you,” Hop Sing sang, a half step below key.

“Happy birthday to you,” Adam immediately joined in, his rich baritone voice raising the song to the correct level of pitch. Teresa and Ben joined in next, followed by Joe, Stacy, and Dolores.

“Happy birthday, Dear Dio . . .  
Happy birthday to you.”  
   
“Mister Hoss, you not sing!” Hop Sing observed as he carefully set the cake, lavishly decorated with icing flowers in a variety of colors, down on the coffee table before the astonished birthday girl.

Hoss chuckled. “Hop Sing, I’ve been blessed with a lotta gifts ‘n talents,” he said. “Singin’ just ain’t one of ‘em.”

“Little Missy make wish, blow out candles,” Hop Sing dutifully instructed the girl.

“Just a moment,” Adam said, before turning his attention to his son, still seated on the other side of the hearth, with his back to everyone, nose stuck in his book. “Benjy?” he called to the boy.

Benjy closed his eyes, and groaned very softly. “Yes, Papa?” he reluctantly responded.

“Come on and join the rest of us, Son,” Adam invited. “Dio’s about to make a wish and blow out the candles.”

“I’m coming,” Benjy murmured in a voice barely audible, while inwardly seething. His sister’s birthday was three weeks ago, nearly four. Almost a whole month!

. . . and Grandmother and Grandfather gave her a big party, then, too, and invited all of her friends . . . _“every last one of whom is just as mean as SHE is,”_ he groused silently, and she had cake, and ice cream, and presents . . . mountains and mountains of ‘em.

It seemed so to HIM, anyway . . . .

Now she gets to have a birthday here, TOO?!

“It’s not fair!” he muttered, as he rose and made his way around the coffee table. “It’s not fair at all!”

“NOW, Little Missy blow out candle,” Hop Sing exhorted the girl with a big smile.

Dio closed her eyes, took a deep breath in the same moment she made her wish, and, upon opening her eyes, blew as hard as she could. She had almost run out of breath at the very end, but she did it. She blew out every single candle with one breath.

“Hey there, Young ‘n!” Hoss looked down at his young niece and smiled. “Looks like ya get your wish.”

“She sure did!” Joe agreed. “What did ya wish for, Kiddo?”

“I can’t tell you, Uncle Joe.”

Joe stuck out his lip as far as he possibly could and gazed down at his young niece with a whipped puppy dog look that would have melted the coldest of hearts. “You can’t even tell your Uncle Joe?” he begged.

Dio very solemnly shook her head. “If I do, I won’t get my wish,” she said.

“That’s right, Joe,” Hoss declared with an emphatic nod of his head.

Dio turned to Hop Sing, as he set himself to the task of cutting and serving the cake. “Mister Hop Sing?” she queried very softly.

“Not mister,” the Chinese man said, as he handed her the first slice. “Hop Sing just Hop Sing.”

“Thank you for the cake, Hop Sing,” Dio said, “but, I hafta tell you . . . it’s not my birthday today.”

Hop Sing smiled. “Hop Sing know,” he said. “Little Bird . . . wise Little Bird . . . tell Hop Sing Little Missy have birthday without Mama and Papa. Same Little Bird also tell Hop Sing Little Missy like chocolate cake best.” He handed slices of cake to Adam and Teresa, then passed one over to Dolores, seated on the settee sandwiched between Hoss and Joe.

“Who’s the Little Bird?” Dio asked, her eyes darting from once face to the next.

“Hop Sing can’t tell Little Missy who Little Bird. Bad luck! Very, very, VERY bad!”

“Well, I bet I know who it is,” Dio said. “I bet it was Grandmother.”

Dolores smiled and shook her head. “Not THIS time, Child . . . . ”

Adam, meanwhile, passed a slice of cake over to Ben, seated in the chair with the port wine hued leather upholstery, and a second to Stacy, who now sat perched on its arm. After serving his father and sister, he picked up the last piece and walked over to his son, who had taken up position between the blue chair and the fireplace hearth. “Would you like a piece of cake, Son?” he asked, holding the plate in hand out to the boy.

“No, Papa,” Benjy said stiffly. “Thank you. I’m kinda tired . . . the long trip ‘n all . . . may I go to bed now?”

“Are you feeling all right, Benjy?” Adam asked quietly, as he studied the boy with an anxious frown.

“I’m not sick or anything like that, I’m just tired,” Benjy replied. “May I go to bed now?”

Adam touched the back of his hand to Benjy’s forehead, drawing a long suffering sigh and a wry roll of the eyes heavenward. “I know you just told me you’re not sick,” he said. “I wanted to make sure.” Though Benjy felt cool as the proverbial cucumber, his face was still a couple of shades paler than normal. “All right, Son, you may go on up,” Adam said. “I’ll look in on you later.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Benjy held out his hand. “Good night.”

“Good night, Benjy,” Adam replied, as he gently shook hands with his son. “Sleep tight.”

“Dio, it’s time YOU were in bed as well,” Teresa said firmly.

“But, Maaa-aaahhh . . . I haven’t even finished my cake yet!” Dio protested.  
   
“You have five minutes to finish it, Young Lady,” Teresa replied in a tone that brooked no argument, “and another three to tell everyone good night.

“But, I’m not even tired,” Dio whined.

“Dio, not another word,” Adam said sternly. “Now you finish your cake, and tell everyone good night, like your mother said.”

“Yes, Pa,” Dio sighed disparagingly.

 

“Hmpf! I can’t even go to bed without HER horning in,” Benjy grumbled softly, as he stormed into the room that would be his home away from home.

 _You can make her sorry . . . ._

Benjy froze. Had he imagined it?

 _You can make them ALL sorry, if you want to . . . ._

He paused for a moment upon reaching the middle landing, and watched as Dio ran around enthusiastically hugging and kissing everyone good night.

“Honestly! That child tires me out just watching her!” Grandmother declared, as she gazed after her granddaughter’s swiftly retreating form with an affectionate smile.

For a moment he gave serious consideration to those words, then turned away with a melancholy sigh. “Must be more tired than I thought,” he mumbled very softly under his breath, as he continued the rest of the way up the stairs.

 

 _He awoke to the sound of bells ringing somewhere far, far away. He opened his eyes slowly, one first, then the other, gazing in utter bewilderment at the strange log ceiling over his head, and white-stucco walls surrounding him, hung with pictures of places, strange and unfamiliar._

 __

Then, he remembered.

 _He was in the small upstairs guest room in his grandpa’s house on a ranch called Ponderosa. The sun shone in through the parted curtains drawn over the window above his head, gently rousing him to full awakening. He rolled out of bed, wincing against the bright sunshine, landing on his feet. He realized, then, that the bells he thought he had heard were the striking of that great big, enormous grandfather clock downstairs in the living room._

 _. . . nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . . twelve!_

 _Twelve?! It couldn’t POSSIBLY be that late . . . could it?_

 _A glance at the clock hanging on the wall facing the bed confirmed that it was indeed that late._

 _Why hadn’t anyone come in to wake him before this?!_

 _He ran over to the dresser, where he had put his clothes yesterday afternoon, all neatly folded, and slid the top-drawer open. Instead of finding his socks and undergarments, he found the drawer completely empty. He frowned. How could THAT be? He had unpacked and put his clothing away himself._

 _He slammed the top drawer shut, and opened the second. It, too, stood empty. Judging from the collection of dust and lint across the bottom of the drawer, it hadn’t been used in a very long while. Frantic, he yanked open the third drawer, then the fourth, followed by the fifth and last on the bottom. Empty!_

 _Every last drawer stood empty!_

 _All the clothes he had so carefully, so painstakingly packed away yesterday afternoon were gone._

 _With heart in mouth, he ran over to the wardrobe. He grabbed hold of the white glass doorknobs, one in each hand, and threw open the doors, wincing as the door on the right clattered loudly against the wall perpendicular. He peered inside and found it completely empty. His good summer suit, the dark blue linen, was gone. So were his shirts, his boots, and his good shoes._

 _“MOTHER?” he yelled._

 _No answer._

 _He shut the wardrobe doors. As he turned to leave the room, his eyes fell on the bed in which he had just been sleeping. He gasped, upon seeing the bed completely stripped of the linens there just moments ago. Had HE stripped the bed? He frowned, trying very hard to remember . . . ._

 _The sounds of laughter coming from outside his open bedroom window drew him from his troubled musings. He bounded across the room and glanced outside. There, he saw the entire family gathered in the yard below, laughing and chatting happily amongst themselves. Mother and Grandmother sat on the buckboard seat, on either side of Papa, who held the reins firmly in hand. His aunt was already mounted on her steed, with his sister seated on the saddle in front of her. The Chinese man came out of the house, grinning from ear-to-ear, carrying two enormous picnic baskets. He handed them to his two uncles, who dutifully set them into the back of the buckboard._

 _“Is everyone ready?” Grandpa asked, as he climbed up onto the back of his own horse._

 _“Ready, Grandpa,” his sister squealed with happy excitement._

 _He suddenly realized they were all leaving._

 _“HEY!” he shouted. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”_

 _No one answered, or even bothered to look up. A small, hard, cold knot of fear began to form deep in the pit of his stomach. “WHERE’S EVERYBODY GOING?” he yelled again._

 _Once more, his words fell on deaf ears._

 _“Let’s go,” Grandpa said._

 _“NO! STOP! DON’T LEAVE ME!”_

 _In the yard below, Grandpa, on his horse, took the lead with his aunt and sister riding along side._

 _“NO! PLEASE . . . WAIT FOR ME!” he shouted at the top of his lungs._

 _No answer. His uncles on their horses fell in step behind Grandpa, with Papa, Mother, and Grandmother in the buckboard bringing up the rear._

 _He bolted from the room and plunged head long at top speed down a seemingly endless hallway, toward the stairs. Somehow, it seemed the faster he ran, the longer the hallway stretched out before him. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of running, he emerged out at the top landing, breathless, his legs trembling with weariness._

 _“STOP! WAIT FOR ME!” he shouted as he half ran, half stumbled down the steps and out the front door._

 _He found the yard completely deserted, except for the Chinese man. For a moment, he stood, unmoving, staring apprehensively at the Chinese man, who had now turned and was ambling back toward the house._

 _“WAIT!” he yelled._

 _The Chinese man continued walking back toward the house, without even acknowledging that he had spoken, let alone giving reply. He turned and ran after him._

 _“Where did they go?” he gasped, as he trotted along side the Chinese man._

 _No answer,_

 _“Please,” he begged, “you’ve got to tell me . . . where did they go?”_

 _The Chinese man entered the house and closed the front door right in his face._

 _He turned and fled from the porch, running in the general direction he had seen Grandpa leading the others._

 _“MOTHER! PAPA! WAIT FOR ME!” he yelled as he ran. “GRANDPA! GRANDMOTHER! PLEASE . . . STOP!”_

 _With a strength and stamina, renewed and fed by the panic and dread fear rising up within, he tore through the yard. Upon rounding the corner behind the barn, he blundered into a roughly circular copse of trees, tall ponderosa pines, ancient judging from the width around their bases. He beat a straight path through its center, hoping against hope that by moving “as the crow flies,” to quote Uncle Hoss, he might catch up to the rest of the family, now traveling on the meandering road leading away from the Ponderosa. Instead of emerging into the sunlit meadow he knew to be just on the other side of the trees, he found himself running through woods, deep and dark, that stretched on and on forever._

 _Tears, borne of the fear still escalating, cascaded freely down his cheeks, reducing his vision to varying shades of dark grays, pine greens, and black. In his panicked, blind flight through the woods, his foot caught on something . . . a rock, or perhaps an exposed tree root. As he pitched forward, a hole opened up in the earth before him. He fell into the long rectangular shaped hole and landed with a hard, ignoble thud that knocked the wind from his lungs. He slowly, painfully rolled over from his stomach onto his side. For every inch his eyes moved up the long shaft rising to the opening high overhead, his heart sank lower and lower. The hole was too deep and its sides too smooth for him to climb out on his own._

 _“HELP! MOTHER! PAPA! HELP!”_

 _His words, his desperate cries for help were answered by a shower of dirt pouring into the hole, falling in his hair and dusting his shoulders. Another showering of dirt fell on him, followed by another, then yet another. He glanced up sharply as big clods of dirt this time, rained down upon him twice more in rapid succession. As he furiously brushed the dry dirt out of his hair, and off his face and shoulders, his ears picked up a slow scraping sound, of metal against dry, rocky earth._

 _“Who’s there?” he called out warily, his entire body rigid._

 _There was no reply. Only silence._

 _“I know someone’s there . . . . ” he called out again, afraid someone would find him one moment, and terrified no one would ever find him again the next. “I KNOW YOU’RE THERE! ANSWER ME! PLEASE . . . ANS---!” His desperate pleas were abruptly silenced by yet another showering of dirt and rocks._

 _Then . . . all of a sudden . . . he realized, to his horror, that someone was shoveling mounds of dirt into the hole, filling it in . . . burying him._

 _“NO!” he screamed. “NO! STOP! PLEASE STOP!” He began to claw frantically at the earthen wall, trying desperately to gain a foothold to propel himself upward. His movements began to slow, and he felt the muscles in his arms suddenly growing weaker and weaker._

 _“No . . . . ” he sobbed, “oh, God, please . . . please no . . . . ”_

 _A numbing paralysis began in his fingers and started to spread. The clumps of dirt he had pulled from the earthen walls surrounding him fell upon his bare feet with a dull thud, from a pair of hands, turned useless. He had dim awareness of his head lifting, then his entire body falling over backward. He tried to cry out, but this time no sound issued forth. The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back at the very bottom of that hole, his body half covered with dirt._

 _At the top of the shaft, the silhouette of a man appeared. His face was completely hidden beneath the dark shadows cast by the wide from of his hat. Yet something in his lines . . . the way he moved . . . ._

 _Papa?_

 _No._

 _Not Papa . . . ._

 _It was Grandpa, standing at the edge of the hole, looking down, with a shovel clasped tight in one hand._

 _Somewhere, in the far distance, someone screamed._

 _Benjy?_

 _GRANDPA, NO!_

 _Benjy._

 _GRANDPA, NO! DON’T!_

 _Benjy!_

 _Grandpa turned, and moved away from the edge of the hole, out of his sight._

 _GRANDPA, DON’T GO! DON’T LEAVE ME, PLEASE . . . DON’T LEAVE ME---_

 _Benjy, wake up!_

Benjy’s eyes suddenly snapped wide open. He found himself sitting up in a strange bed, in the midst of a dark room, staring into the anxious face of Uncle Joe. His breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps, and tiny beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead.

“It’s ok, Benjy . . . it’s ok. It was a DREAM. A bad dream from the way you were screaming, but it WAS just a dream.” Joe’s voice was quiet and gentle, yet carried within a rock hard firmness that his young nephew found deeply reassuring. “You’re safe now, Benjy . . . you’re safe.”

For one brief, utterly insane moment, Benjy wanted, more than just about anything, to simply throw himself into his uncle’s arms and just hang on for dear life. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and vigorously shook his head as if to physically dislodge that errant, near overwhelming urging. “I’m NOT a little kid anymore,” he silently, furiously chastised himself. “I’m not, I’m not, I’m NOT!”

Joe, meanwhile, began to blot the boy’s glistening forehead with the sleeve of his nightshirt. “You’re sweating like a pig, Sport . . . though for the life of me I can’t understand why,” he murmured softly. “This room feels kinda chilly.”

“Uncle Joe?”

“Yes, Benjy?”

“I . . . I need to check something . . . . ”

He was out of bed, running toward the dresser before Joe could even think of stopping him. Benjy yanked open the top drawer and stood, for a time, rooted to the spot, staring into the open drawer.

“ . . . uhhh, Benjy?” Joe queried with an anxious frown. He rose, shuddering the instant his feet touched the ice-cold floor.

The boy slammed the drawer shut as wave upon wave of pure, unadulterated relief washed over him. His underwear and socks were neatly folded and in their proper place, right were he had put them.

“Hey, Sport, y’ better come on back to bed,” Joe invited with a warm, reassuring smile. “This floor feels like ice and I’VE got these heavy socks on. You must be freezing in your bare feet.”

“Y-yeah, it IS kind of cold,” Benjy ventured hesitantly, favoring his uncle with a small, shy smile.

Joe waited while his young nephew climbed into bed, then covered him over with bed linens and the light, summer blanket lying across the foot of the bed, neatly folded. “You gonna be warm enough? I can get you a quilt . . . . ”

“I’m fine, Uncle Joe, except for . . . feeling a little . . . lost, I guess . . . . ”

Joe flashed the boy a knowing, sympathetic smile. “I know exactly how you feel, Benjy. It’s quite a shock to wake up out of a dream, especially a real bad one, and find yourself lying in your own room . . . in your own bed. When you’re away from home, sleeping in a strange room and a strange bed . . . . ”

“H-Has it ever happened to YOU, Uncle Joe?”

“Yes, Benjy. A LOT!”

“Joe?” It was Adam. “Is everything all right?”

“Benjy had a bad dream, Adam. It left him pretty shook up, but he’s gonna be ok.”

Adam entered the room. “I’d forgotten how chilly the nights get around here,” he remarked, while drawing his dark navy blue robe tighter around him. Three brisk strides brought him to his son’s bedside. Joe quietly rose and gestured for Adam to take his place on the edge of the bed. He gratefully nodded his thanks. “You ok, Buddy?”

“I . . . I’m ok, Papa,” Benjy replied, as the worst of his terror began to give way to acute embarrassment. “It was just a bad dream, like Uncle Joe said. May I have a drink of water?”

“I’ll get it,” Joe offered.

“Not much, half a glass maybe,” Adam said.

Joe nodded and set off.

“You want to talk about it, Benjy?” Adam asked after Joe had left.

Benjy shook his head.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Papa.” Benjy looked away from his father, focusing his gaze on his hands tightly clasped in his lap. “You’d probably think it was kind of stupid anyway.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Adam said earnestly. “I heard you crying out, Benjy. That tells me whatever your dream was about, it had a very profound effect on you. Nothing, be it a dream or happenstance occurring during our waking hours, that affects you so deeply is stupid.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Papa, because I . . . I don’t remember too much of it anymore.”

The pale face, rapid breathing, and the slight tremor in the boy’s hands all told Adam otherwise. He decided not to press, for now anyway. “Benjy?”

“Y-Yes, Papa?”

“If you remember the dream later on, and you want to talk about it, I’m ready and willing to listen. I want you to know that.”

Benjy nodded.

A knock at the bedroom door drew the attention of father and son. It was Joe. “I’ve got the water,” he announced, holding up the glass.

Adam motioned for Joe to enter.

“Here y’ go, Sport,” Joe said, as he placed the glass into his nephew’s outstretched hands.

“Thank you, Uncle Joe.”

“You’re welcome. Well, it looks like you two don’t need ME anymore, so I’m off to bed. Good night, Adam. Good night, Benjy. See ya both in the morning.”

“Good night, Joe.”

Benjy quickly finished his water and handed the glass to his father. “Good night, Uncle Joe,” he said with a big yawn.

“You sure everything’s all right, Benjy?” Adam asked, after his youngest brother had gone.

Benjy nodded.

“If you need me for anything, I’m in the room at the end of the hall with your mother. All right?”

“Ok, Papa.”

Adam nodded, then reached for the quilt still neatly folded at the end of the bed.

“You don’t have to do that,” Benjy protested. He was deeply grateful it was still dark, and that his father couldn’t see the hot flush of deep crimson that had all of a sudden come to his cheeks. “I’m a big boy now, Papa . . . I’m too old to be tucked in.”

“First of all, it’s pretty chilly in here,” Adam said, as he covered his son with the quilt, then set himself to the task of tucking the edges under the mattress. “Second . . . . ” he smiled. “ . . . YOU could live to be a hundred, Young Man, and I live to be . . . well, whatever! It’ll STILL be my prerogative as your father.”

An amused smile tugged hard at the corner of Benjy’s mouth. “I’ll bet Grandpa doesn’t tuck in Uncle Hoss, Uncle Joe, and Aunt Stacy.”

“I’ll bet he DOES . . . sometimes,” Adam replied. He refrained from adding that Grandpa would probably tuck HIM in, too, if Teresa weren’t sharing the room and bed with him. “You sure everything’s all right?”

“Yes, Papa, I’m fine now.”

He leaned down and kissed his son on the forehead. “Good night, Benjy.”

“Good night, Papa.”

 

Adam left his son’s room, noiselessly closing the door behind him. He, then, made his way back down the hall to the large room at the end, taking great care to tread quietly, so not to wake up anyone else.

“Everything all right?” Teresa asked, as Adam entered the room.

He removed his robe and draped it over the chair next to the door. “Everything’s QUIET! The jury’s still out on the question of whether or not everything’s all right.”

“What happened?”

“Benjy had a nightmare that left him pretty shook up,” Adam replied as he climbed into bed next to his wife.

“What was the nightmare about?”

“He wasn’t forthcoming on that score, I’m afraid. He claimed he had forgotten most of it, but he hadn’t. I could tell by the frightened look on his face.”

“I know Benjy’s pretty reserved, especially around people he doesn’t know very well . . . and he’s travel weary, but . . . . ” Teresa sighed and shook her head. “He’s been too quiet, today, Adam. Much too quiet!”

Adam nodded. “Yeah, something’s bothering him. I had every intention of taking him aside and sitting him down for a private father-son chat, but between getting everyone back here, unpacked, and settled . . . not to mention visiting with each other . . . . ” He sighed very softly, and shook his head. “I’m afraid my good intentions got shoved by the way side.”

“Things WERE pretty hectic today,” Teresa agreed. “By the time everyone settled down, it was time to go to bed.”

“Perhaps I’ll have better luck tomorrow after the kids have their riding lesson.”

“In the meantime, I’LL try and talk with Mother sometime tomorrow. She and Papa have been looking after them since you and I left to come here. Maybe she can shed some light on things.”

Adam nodded.

“Good night, Adam.” Teresa leaned over and kissed him passionately on the lips.

“ . . . uuhhh, Teresa?”

“Hmmm?”

“I hope you know we’ve got to watch ourselves like hawks from here on out, Sweetheart,” Adam warned. “Benjy and Dio are ten times more inquisitive than Joe and Stacy, and THEY have a much greater tendency to ask embarrassing questions at the absolute worst times.”

 

Father Brendan Rutherford crumpled the sheet of paper, lying on the desk before him, and, with a soft, melancholy sigh, tossed it across the room toward the trash receptacle, already full to overflowing. “I might as well be honest and admit to myself that I’m not going to get a blessed thing accomplished . . . leastwise, not tonight.” He rose, and stretched. “I’d go to bed . . . if I thought for a minute I’d actually get any sleep,” he murmured, barely aware of having just spoken out loud.

Aged in his late sixties, his big, square shaped face, with its wide jaw and ruddy complexion, along with the circlet of tonsured red hair, easily took twenty years away from his appearance. He was a big man, standing well over six feet tall, with broad, muscular shoulders and barreled chest. Although his well-defined musculature and washboard flat abdomen had softened and grown more round under the inevitable pull of age and gravity, he still presented a picture of a man physically fit. Though now largely retired, he still supervised the three priests assigned to Saint Mary’s in the Mountains, visited the sick and infirm among the community, counseled troubled parishioners on occasion, and filled in during mass as needed.

The sound of someone knocking softly on the door to his study drew him from his troubled musings. “Come in,” he responded, inwardly grateful for the respite.

Brother Algernon Wolfe, a short, portly man a dozen years his junior, quietly entered the room bearing a tray, with the nightcap monk and priest had shared before retiring for more years now than he cared to count sometimes. “It would appear that the best for all concerned would be for me to leave your, ummm . . . shall we say ‘well aged nightly medication’ on the desk and not bother you with my petty little difficulties so that you might finish that sermon for Sunday,” the monk remarked wryly, as his eyes fell upon the trash receptacle, piled high with crumpled wads of paper.

“You’ve not once left me in peace for a single night over the past ten years and I’ll not have you start now, thank you very much,” Father Brendan retorted with mock severity, the twinkle in his blue eyes giving lie to the stern glower on his face. “Now sit down, y’ ol’ coot.”

Brother Algernon chuckled with genuine mirth as he set the tray down on the priest’s expansive, mahogany desk, and seated himself in the hard backed chair facing it. “You realize of course that you calling me an ol’ coot’s like the pot calling the kettle black, Monsignor.”

Father Brendan took one of the glasses, filled to the brim with a very fine brandy, from the tray and took a small sip. “Any word on how Mrs. Smith is faring?” he asked, turning serious.

For the past thirty years, Mrs. Lee Smith had lived among the sisters at the convent of Saint Mary’s in the Mountains. She had initially come as a patient in desperate need of healing, not only for her bruised, battered body, but for her stricken spirit and soul as well. Though she had never sought to take the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, she had nonetheless remained, serving the kindly sisters with diligence and grace as their housekeeper, chief cook and bottle washer, bookkeeper, and as able nursing assistant after the hospital had been established.

“The good news is . . . Mother Catherine has NOT sent me to fetch Doctor Martin,” Brother Algernon replied. “Last I heard the good lady was in her room, resting comfortably with one of the sisters in attendance.”

Father Brendan nodded his head slowly. “Yes,” he murmured softly, yet guarded. “Yes. That IS good news.”

“Monsignor?”

“Yes, Brother?”

“The anniversary of . . . . ” the monk’s voice trailed away to silence. He sipped from his own glass of brandy, then continued. “It’s . . . soon, is it not?”

“Four . . . . ” Father Brendan’s eyes strayed over to the tall grandfather’s clock positioned against the wall directly in front of him, sandwiched between a pair of matching barrister’s bookcases, packed full. “No . . . make that THREE days from now,” he amended, upon noting that the time was a few minutes past midnight.

“The anniversary never HAS been a very good time for her . . . not in the time I’VE known her at any rate,” Brother Algernon quietly observed.

“No,” Father Brendan agreed, “and now, with her heath being so precarious . . . . ” His voice trailed away to an ominous silence that lingered for a time.

“Monsignor?”

“Yes?”

“I . . . thought . . . I overheard Mother Catherine telling one of the sisters that it’s been thirty years now, since . . . . ”

“Thirty years,” Father Brendan murmured, then nodded. “Yes. That sounds about right.”

Brother Algernon finished the last of his brandy in a single swallow. “I . . . would think thirty years would be more than enough time to . . . well, to forget about it . . . to put it out of her mind and go on with her life.”

“Brother Algernon, I seriously doubt that ANY mother who loses all six of her children to death in so very short a time CAN forget about it,” Father Brendan said.

“I suppose,” Brother Algernon acquiesced in a bland tone. He, then, rose and set his empty glass back down onto the tray. “I’m going to say good night, Monsignor. Am I correct in assuming that you intend to linger over your brandy for a while?”

Father Brendan nodded. “Good night, Brother . . . sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Mister Cartwright, two minutes! Breakfast ready!” Hop Sing announced tersely to the family gathered over next to the fireplace the following morning.

“It’s about dadburn time,” Hoss groused, scowling.

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Adam?”

“I trust you got Peggy moved yesterday afternoon without any problems?” Adam asked.

“Yep,” Hoss replied, nodding his head. “She’s settled in now with Doc ‘n Mrs. Martin, just as snug as a bug in a rug,” he replied. “Mrs. Martin says she’s gonna let Peggy have a crack at straightenin’ t’ doctor’s books.”

“Excellent. That’ll be good practice for her,” Adam nodded and smiled approvingly.

The sound of booted feet slapping against the wooden steps in rapid succession brought all conversation to a halt. Dio, her face shining with all of the excitement of a new day and new adventure soon to begin, rounded the corner at the middle landing, bounded two thirds of the way down the remaining steps. There, she paused, then took a flying leap over the last three steps, landing on her feet with all the fluid grace of a leaping cat, if not the silence.

Adam immediately leapt to his feet the instant he realized his young daughter was airborne. He quickly circled around the settee, then hurried across the great room toward the steps. “Dio?!” he called out to his daughter anxiously. “Are you---??” His words ended with a loud, pained grunt, when Dio barreled into him half way between the settee and the stairs.

“Good morning, Pa!” she cried as she wrapped her small arms tight around his thighs. Her long black hair had been braided into a single braid that reached down to the middle of her back, and this morning, she was dressed in an old shirt and a pair of pants her Aunt Stacy had outgrown several years before. The boots on her feet were an old pair Uncle Joe had outgrown shortly after his eighth birthday.

“Good morning!” Adam slipped one arm around his daughter, while unconsciously waggling the other in a valiant attempt to maintain his balance.

“Aunt Stacy’s gonna give us our first riding lesson today,” Dio said. “Ma said it was ok . . . if it’s ok with YOU . . . . ” She peered up into her father’s face, eager and hopeful.

“Fine with me,” Adam agreed, punctuating his reply with a long, slow sigh of relief when his balance finally stabilized.

“Your first riding lesson begins after breakfast,” Stacy said, as she made her way down the stairs, moving at a brisk pace, “and AFTER I finish my morning chores.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Princess?” Adam queried as he took his young daughter by the hand and led her over to the fireplace where his father, brothers, and mother-in-law yet remained. Stacy quietly fell in behind her brother and niece.

“Can I help Aunt Stacy with her morning chores?” Dio begged. “Please? Can I pretty please?!”

Ben laughed out loud. “Did I actually hear someone ASKING to do chores? That’s a first around here!”  
   
“That way we can have our lesson faster,” Dio explained.  
   
“Hey, Kid, think you can you use an assistant teacher?” Joe asked, as Stacy plopped herself down on the hearth next to the leather upholstered port wine chair, occupied by their father.  
   
“Why do you ask, Grandpa?”  
   
“I could use a little help with MY chores in the morning, too.”  
   
“Now you see here, Baby Brother! If you think for one minute I’m going to allow you to exploit my daughter as slave labor . . . . ” Adam protested, half teasing and every inch the overly protective father.

“On THAT note, I think we’d better head on out to the table,” Ben said as he slowly rose to his feet.

“Last one there’s a rotten egg!” Dio cried as she turned, and headed for the dining running as fast as her legs could carry her.

“Now hold on there, Young ‘n!” Hoss said with a smile, as he grabbed hold of his niece mid-stride, and lifted her high into the air, prompting a startled cry. “You better try ‘n save some of that energy o’ yours if you intend on helpin’ Aunt Stacy out with doin’ her chores,” he exhorted, while gently tucking the laughing, squirming little girl under his arm. “Otherwise you’re gonna be too plumb tuckered out for that ridin’ lesson.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“I’ll be with the rest of you in a moment,” Adam said quietly. “I think perhaps I should run upstairs and hurry Teresa and Benjy along . . . .”

 

Adam found Benjy still in his pajamas, lying huddled up under the covers. Teresa sat poised on the edge of the bed, gazing down at their son with a worried frown. She gently smoothed a stray lock of hair from the boy’s forehead. He paused before the open door and softly knocked on the doorframe. “Good morning, Teresa . . . Benjy. May I come in?”

“Good morning, Adam . . . and yes! Please . . . come on in,” Teresa invited. “Benjy doesn’t seem to be feeling well this morning.”

“Oh?” Adam queried as he crossed the room, and walked around to the other side of the bed. “What’s the matter, Son?”

“My stomach hurts, Papa, and my fingers and toes feel kind of funny.”

Teresa leaned over and gently pressed her lips to Benjy’s forehead.

“How is he?” Adam asked.

“Cool as a cucumber,” she replied, straightening.

“You feel up to putting on your robe and coming downstairs for a bite of breakfast?” Adam asked. “We can ask Hop Sing to fix you some toast and brew up a bit of weak tea.”

“No, Papa. I’d rather go back to sleep for a little while, if I may?”

“All right, Benjy,” Adam agreed. “Your mother and I’ll be up to look in on you after breakfast.”

“Papa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“Would you please tell Aunt Stacy to go ahead and start teaching Dio? How to ride I mean. No point in making her wait because I’m feeling sick.”

“Sure, I’ll tell her,” Adam promised. “In the meantime, you get some rest. We’ll be back in a little while.”

 

“Good morning, Teresa,” Ben greeted his daughter-in-law with a smile, as she and Adam approached the dining room table. The rest of the family was already seated. “Is Benjy coming?”

“It seems he’s not feeling well this morning,” Teresa said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ben murmured sympathetically. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Adam courteously held his wife’s chair, as she sat down. “He says his stomach hurts, but he doesn’t seem to be running a fever, Pa. I’m thinking the rigors of the trip took a lot more out of him than we figured yesterday.”

“I can send for Doctor Martin if you wish,” Ben offered.

“Thank you, Pa, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Adam replied. “For now, we’ll just keep an eye on him.”

“Breakfast served,” Hop Sing blithely announced, as he entered the dining room carrying a large platter of pancakes. “Eat! Taste best hot!”

“Hop Sing?”

“Yes, Mister Adam?”

“Benjy’s not feeling well this morning,” Adam explained. “He says his stomach hurts. Would you mind fixing him a piece of toast, and maybe a little weak tea, after you’ve brought every thing to the table?”

Hop Sing’s face fell. “Oh, very sorry Mister Adam little boy sick,” he murmured sympathetically. “Hop Sing fix toast and peppermint tea. Peppermint tea very good for sick tummy.”

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Teresa said quietly. “If you’ll let me know when it’s ready, I’ll take it up to him.”

Hop Sing nodded. “When Hop Sing make, bring to Mrs. Teresa,” he dutifully promised before returning to the kitchen.

“Ma?”

“Yes, Dio?”

“Does that mean you won’t watch me take my first riding lesson?” Dio asked. The disappointment she felt was reflected very clearly in her face and eyes.

Teresa shook her head. “You brother’s not feeling well, Dio. I think it would best if I kept close.”

“I’LL be there to watch you, Princess,” Adam promised, “and I’ll bet you anything your grandpa might come out and watch, too.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ben declared . . . .

 

“How am I doing, Aunt Stacy?”

“You’re doing great, Dio,” Stacy praised her young niece. The child was a natural, no denying that, and she was fast proving to be an excellent student in all areas so far, except the most important in the mind of the young teacher . . . .

 

 __

“Dio, one thing you’ve got to ALWAYS remember is . . . while it’s true most horses’ll do anything for you, if you treat them right . . . they’re big animals,” Stacy cautioned her niece first thing, just as Silver Moon had cautioned her nearly a decade ago now. “They’re big . . . they’re very strong, and very powerful. You’ve got to respect that. If not, they can hurt you . . . very badly . . . without even realizing.”

 _“I’ll remember . . . . ” the child responded. She stood on a nearby bale of hay, gazing into the stall at Guinevere through eyes filled with adoration._

 _Stacy knew that her words of warning had gone in one ear and right out the other. She’d made herself a stern mental note then to work harder at impressing upon the girl the need to exercise caution._

 

Dio circled around the corral on Guinevere’s back, at a brisk, steady walk. She sat tall in the saddle, hips and legs relaxed, hands and arms echoing the movements of Guinevere’s head. Her eyes and face glowed.

Guinevere was a bay mare with a rich deep reddish brown coat. Though still well muscled and physically fit, the liberal sprinkling of white hairs around her mouth and nostrils divulged her steadily advancing age.

Ben stood outside the corral, leaning up against the fence, with Adam standing to his right. “Dio’s a natural, Adam,” he said softly. “A real natural . . . just like her aunt.”

“I’m impressed, Pa,” Adam said by way of agreement. He looked over at his father and smiled. “With BOTH of them! You were right when you said that Stacy’s a good teacher.”

“Stacy!”

“Yeah, Pa?” she replied, her eyes remaining glued to Dio and Guinevere.

“Better start winding things up. We eat dinner in a hour.”

“Aww, Grandpa, already?” Dio groaned. Her contented glow faded into a mask of complete and utter disappointment.

“Pa’s right, Dio,” Stacy said. “I still have to teach you about stabling Guinevere and about keeping things straight in the tack room. Pa . . . your GRANDpa . . . is a real stickler about that! Barn door’s THIS way . . . . ”

“Hey, Adam, look who’s decided to join us.”

Adam turned, his eyes following the line of Ben’s outstretched hand and pointing finger. Benjy, clad in a pair of dark brown trousers and a white shirt, stepped down off the porch and started across the yard. “Good morning, Benjy,” Adam greeted his son with a broad grin. “Feeling better?”

“A little.”

“Dio’s in the barn with Aunt Stacy learning how to unsaddle and stable her horse, along with a thing or two about keeping the tack room straight,” Adam said. “Why don’t you go on in and join them? That way you won’t be as far behind Dio tomorrow.”

Benjy frowned. “Tomorrow?”

“Your riding lesson tomorrow,” Adam quickly filled in the blank.

“Oh. I kind of . . . I guess I forgot.”

“If you don’t see Stacy and Dio in the barn, you’ll probably find them in the tack room on the left as you go in through the big door,” Ben said, pointing.

Benjy stared at the open barn door for a moment, then shook his head. “I-I don’t know if I should,” he ventured hesitantly. “I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You wouldn’t be interrupting anything, Benjy,” Ben said with an encouraging smile. “They’ll just be getting started.”

“Oh. Well, ok, I guess.” Benjy turned heel and trudged reluctantly over toward the open barn door.

 

As Benjy stepped over the threshold, moving from the warm sun into the cool, dimly lit interior of the enormous barn, he heard the voices of his sister and aunt coming from somewhere directly in front of him. He heard none of their words, only a soft, endless drone, that sounded far distant, despite the fact that Guinevere’s stall had to be along that back wall of the barn, facing the door. He peered into the odd, murky shadows ahead of him, searching for Dio and Aunt Stacy, but couldn’t find them.

With each step he took, the world outside, where his father and grandfather stood leaning up against the corral fence talking, seemed to recede, like the waves of the ocean retreat from the beach when the tide ebbs. The sunshine, pouring in through the openings high over his head, illumined the interior of the barn with a dim, silvery gray light. That and the oddly shaped deep shadows lurking within the empty stalls added to the eerie, otherworldly atmosphere. A heavy, deep silence settled over him, over everything, like a heavy shroud.

Benjy found himself turning right, away from the places where Papa and Grandpa had told him he would find Aunt Stacy and Dio. His feet seemed to move of their own volition, drawing him further and further into the dim, murky lit interior of the barn. He suddenly had the uneasy feeling of two eyes watching every single move he made. A cold, icy chill ran down the entire length of his spine, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

 _Hello._

Benjy glanced up sharply, expecting to see someone standing in front of him. He saw no one.

 _Hello._

This time, the voice seemed to be coming from behind him. He whirled in his tracks, but again, saw no one. “Is . . . is anyone . . . is anyone h-here?” Benjy ventured timidly.

 _I’m here._

“Wh-where?” Benjy responded. He could feel his heart pounding hard against his rib cage. “Where ARE you?”

“Benjy?”

Benjy started so violently, he lost his balance and fell, landing in a nearby pile of straw.

“Benjy, are you all right?”

He opened his eyes and found himself staring up into Aunt Stacy’s anxious face.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” she apologized as she gently helped him to his feet. “You all right?”

“Y-yes . . . yes, I AM, Aunt Stacy, thank you,” he murmured as he brushed off the dust from his backside with a few sweeps of his hand. “Grandpa and Papa said I might come in and find out about keeping the tack room clean and . . . and about stabling a horse.”

Stacy smiled. “Come with me, Benjy,” she invited. “Dio’s waiting next to Guinevere’s stall, over there.” She pointed back in the direction from whence he had initially heard their voices. “We were just getting ready to unsaddle Guinevere.”

Benjy nodded and fell in step beside Stacy. Suddenly, his ears were assaulted with a cacophony of sounds emanating from the world around him: birds singing, the gentle breezes wafting through aspen boughs and pine needles, the occasional sound of a horse whinnying in the corral outside. They found Dio and Guinevere waiting, the former impatiently shifting from one foot to the other, next to the gentle mare’s open stall.

“Aunt Stacy?”

“Yes, Dio?”

“Can I unsaddle Guinevere? Please, Aunt Stacy? Can I?”

“MAY I,” Benjy corrected, in a lofty, imperious tone.

“That’s what I said!” Dio hotly protested.

“No, you said CAN I,” Benjy persisted, with the same disdainful condescension that, in the past, had sometimes unintentionally crept into his father’s voice when HE set about to correct his younger brothers. “I assume you CAN unsaddle Guinevere, after Aunt Stacy shows you how, but you’re really asking her permission to do so. The correct way to ask permission is to say MAY I.”

Dio’s cheeks flamed scarlet. She quickly bowed her head, suddenly unable to bring herself to look Stacy directly in the eye.

“Yes, Dio, you CAN and you MAY unsaddle Guinevere while I talk you through it,” Stacy offered kindly, as she placed a comforting hand on her niece’s shoulder.

Dio looked up returning her aunt’s encouraging smile with a tremulous one of her own.

Stacy also noted with surprise and a little dismay that the girl’s eyes glistened with unusual brightness. “You come on around here, Dio,” she said, drawing a dark glare from her nephew. “Benjy?”

“Yes, Aunt Stacy?”

“Would YOU like some hands on experience unsaddling Guinevere?”

Benjy could feel the blood draining right out of his face. He involuntarily took a step backward. “I . . . uuhh, that’s ok. I can WATCH Dio . . . if that’s alright.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Stacy agreed. She motioned Dio to come over next to her and Guinevere.

Dio started walking over toward Stacy and Guinevere. She had scarcely taken a half dozen steps, when she suddenly stopped and turned toward Benjy, favoring him with a smug grin. “ ‘Fraidy cat!”

“Shut-up, Dio,” Benjy returned, very much on the defensive.

“Benjy is a ‘fraidy cat . . . . ”

“Shut-UP, Dio . . . . ”

“Well, you ARE a big ol’ ‘fraidy cat,” Dio continued, “and you’re a big sissy too. YOU’RE an even bigger sissy ‘n Amy Collins!”

“Dio, if you don’t shut your lying mouth, I’ll . . . I’ll . . . so HELP me, I’ll--- ”

“You won’t do NUTHIN’ . . . ‘cause you’re afraid!”

“Dio . . . Benjy, that’s enough!” Stacy said in a quiet, yet very firm tone.

“Benjy is a sissy, Benjy is a sissy, Benjy is a— ”

“SHUT-UP, DIO, JUST SHUT-UP!” Benjy shouted, his voice catching.

“WELL YOU ARE A BIG SISSY . . . ‘N YOU’RE A GREAT BIG ‘FRAIDY CAT, AND YOU’RE A BIG, BIG, BIG CRYBABY, TOO,” Dio yelled back, her face contorting with raw fury.

Stacy angrily seized her young niece by the forearm and spun her around. “Dio, I SAID that’s enough!” she said, favoring the girl with a dark, angry glare.

“But, he IS a big sissy, ‘fraidy cat, Aunt Stacy,” Dio wailed defensively. “Almost everyone I know says so! And you can see for yourself he’s a big crybaby!”

Benjy turned heel and, with a strangled cry, fled from the barn.

Stacy forced herself to take a deep breath and count to ten. “Dio, whether Benjy is a big sissy, ‘fraidy cat, crybaby or not doesn’t matter,” she said, laboring to keep the worst of her rising anger in check. “What you did just now was pure out ‘n out ornery mean!”

Dio’s face fell. “I . . . I’m s-sorry, Aunt Stacy.”

“I’m not the one you were mean to just now, Dio. You need to tell BENJY you’re sorry.”

Dio pulled herself up to full height and glared up at Stacy defiantly. “No! I won’t tell Benjy I’m sorry, I won’t!”

“Then I’m not giving you anymore riding lessons,” Stacy said firmly. “Not until you tell Benjy that you’re sorry.”

Dio stared up at Stacy, her defiance giving way to complete and utter despair. With a heart-wrenching sob, she turned heel and fled from the barn.

For a moment, Stacy stood, unmoving, her eyes glued to her young niece’s retreating back, trying desperately to make some kind of sense out of the angry exchange between Dio and Benjy just now. She finally just shook her head, then set herself to the task of stabling the patient, gentle Guinevere. She was surprised to feel the sting of tears in her own eyes as she removed Guinevere’s saddle, and carried it to its block in the tack room.

“Hey, Kid, what was THAT all about?”

Stacy turned and glanced over at the doorway between the tack room and the rest of the barn. She saw Joe there, leaning against the side of the door, with arms folded across his chest and a puzzled look on his face.

“Benjy and Dio?”

Joe nodded.

“I wish I knew!” Her voice caught on the last word.

Joe unfolded his arms and walked over to his sister. “What happened, Stace?” he asked quietly, as he gave her shoulders a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

Stacy haltingly gave her brother an account of what had transpired between their niece and nephew a few moments before, and of her own intervention.

“For what it’s worth, Little Sister, I think you did the right thing as far as Dio’s concerned,” Joe voiced his wholehearted agreement, punctuating his words with an emphatic nod of his head.

“If I d-did? Then why am I crying?”

Joe reached into the inside pocket of his green jacket and produced a clean handkerchief. He placed the handkerchief in Stacy’s hand, then slipped his own arms around her. “You’re probably crying because you love Dio very much, and you had to hurt her just now. But, Stacy?”

She looked up into his face expectantly.

“You’ve got to stick to your guns on this one, because Dio not only loves YOU very much, but she also looks up to you,” Joe continued in a gentle, yet firm tone. “She’s got to know that you’re not going to tolerate that kind of meanness. It’s not going to be easy, Kid, but then being the grown-up never is.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Joe and Stacy glanced up just as their father entered the tack room with an odd, bemused smile on his face.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“Am I in trouble?”

Ben shook his head. “Adam, Teresa, and I managed to piece together something of what happened after hearing what the kids had to say. I just wanted to make sure YOU were all right, and let you know that we’re all in agreement about you not giving Dio anymore riding lessons until she apologizes to Benjy.”

“Thanks . . . Both of You.” Stacy gave her brother an affectionate squeeze then stepped over and hugged Ben. “I don’t feel very good about this whole thing, but I think I feel a little better.”

“We’d best get ourselves into the house,” Ben urged. “Dinner’ll be ready soon.”

“You two go ahead,” Stacy said. “I need to finish stabling Guinevere.”

Ben nodded.

“See you at the table, Little Sister,” Joe said, before leaving in the company of his father.

“Son, you really amaze me sometimes,” Ben said quietly, as they stepped together from the barn into the sunshine.

Joe looked over at his father and grinned. “Oh? How so, Pa?”

“Everything you said to Stacy just now.”

“You heard?”

Ben nodded. “I really meant it when I said that I couldn’t have put it any better.”

“Thanks, Pa.”

“So. Where DID you come by all those words of wisdom you just got through dispensing to your sister?” Ben asked as he slipped a paternal arm about his youngest son’s shoulders.

“Easy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” Joe’s smile broadened. “I just pretended I was YOU.”

 

The minute his father excused him from the dinner table, Benjy ran upstairs to fetch his book, then bolted outdoors in search of a tall shade tree under which he might sit and read for a little while. He was gratified to learn that his parents, grandparents, even his uncles and the Chinese man, all agreed with Aunt Stacy’s decision not to give Dio anymore riding lessons until she apologized to him for her meanness. However, instead of blaming Aunt Stacy or the others, Dio blamed HIM. She adamantly refused to speak to him, and throughout the entire noon meal, she directed the very worst angry glare that she could possibly summon, right at him.

Benjy walked out past the barn toward that circle of trees, bearing a very strong resemblance to the woods in that horrible nightmare last night. He paused just outside the circle and peered fearfully within. The sun shone down through the overhead canopy of pine needles and branches in long rays of silver gray light, dappling the ground with spots reminiscent of a young fawn’s coat. At the outer edges of the tree circle, deep, impenetrable shadows pooled in nooks, crannies, and crevices formed by tree roots and the uneven ground, lending the entire area within a sinister, forbidding air.

Benjy swallowed, contemplating a quick return to his room to spend the afternoon reading there.

 _“ ‘Fraidy cat, ‘fraidy cat!”_

His sister’s cruel, taunting words sounded once again in his ears, followed by a peal of mean laughter.

 _“Benjy’s nothing but a big sissy, ‘fraidy cat, crybaby.”_

“I am NOT a ‘fraidy cat!” he muttered angrily, under his breath. With book in hand and a sudden, steely determination, Benjy strode resolutely into the midst of the trees and sat down under the tallest ponderosa pine tree, forming the circle. An eerie stillness descended upon him, as he settled himself on the ground, with his back against the tree. With the stillness came a heavy, all pervading silence, not unlike what he experienced in the barn earlier.

As he slowly opened his book, Benjy couldn’t shake the uneasy, eerie feeling of someone watching . . . .

 _Hello._

Benjy gasped, nearly jumping clear out of his skin. His book flew out of his hands and landed several yards from his feet, near the center of the circle. “Wh-who’s there?” he demanded, his entire body trembling.

“Sorry I scared ya.”

Benjy glanced up sharply, and found, much to his astonishment, a boy kneeling beside him, on his right. Clad only in a pair of faded, worn overalls, he appeared to be slightly older, with a mop of unruly brown curls, a pale face, and hazel eyes, round and staring.

“I found your book.”

“Th-thank you,” Benjy murmured in as steady a voice as he could muster. “You live around here?”

“Yeah, I guess so. You?”

Benjy shook his head. “I live in Sacramento.”

“Sacramento?! Where’s THAT?”

“California.”

The boy gave Benjy a bewildered look, then shook his head. “Is it far away?”

“Kinda, I guess,” Benjy replied. “It took my grandmother, my sister, and me a whole week to travel by stagecoach from Sacramento to Virginia City.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m visiting my grandfather, my uncles, and my aunt,” he said as he marked his place and closed his book.

“Who’s your grandfather?”

“Ben Cartwright.”

“ . . . Cartwright . . . Ben Cartwright . . . . ” the boy murmured softly. “I . . . kinda remember the name . . . but, I don’t remember his face.”

“His real name’s BENJAMIN, but most people call him Ben. My name’s Benjamin, too.”

“Really?” The boy smiled.

Benjy smiled back and nodded his head. “Everyone pretty much calls me Benjy, though . . . . ”

“That’s what folks call ME!” The boy’s smile broadened. “My name’s ALSO Benjamin.”

“Honest?”

“Honest!”

“Benjy?”

The other boy giggled. “Yeah, Benjy?”

“Where do YOU live?”

“Here.”

“On the Ponderosa?”

“No, here. Ponderosa’s over THAT way.” The boy raised his right arm and pointed. “This here’s--- ” He frowned, trying to remember.

“It’s the Ponderosa,” Benjy said, favoring the other boy with a bewildered frown. “My grandpa, my two uncles, and my aunt live in that big log house on the other side of these trees, and the barn.”

“This AIN’T the Ponderosa!” the other Benjy insisted.

“Yes, it IS,” Benjy argued.

“No, it ain’t,” the other boy declared heatedly. “I tell ya Ponderosa’s over there, yonder. This here’s my pa’s land. He even named it, but I . . . I can’t remember.”

“I can prove this is Ponderosa!” Benjy’s own ire began to rise. “If you go out beyond these trees you’ll see the barn AND the house.”

“That’s OUR house!”

“No, it’s NOT your house! It’s my grandpa’s house.”

“Hey, Sport, who’re you talking to?”

Benjy yelped, and whirled in his tracks. He saw Uncle Joe, standing at the very edge of the tree circle.

“Sorry I startled you, Benjy,” Joe apologized as he stepped inside the circle.

“ ‘S ok, Uncle Joe.”

“You all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right now . . . I think . . . . ” Benjy closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“So, who were you talking to?”

“A boy. His name’s Benjy, too, Uncle Joe.”

“Really?”

Benjy nodded.

“Where’d he go?”

“He’s right here! Benjy, this is— ” Benjy Cartwright turned and found that his companion was gone. He frowned. “I don’t understand . . . he was just here a second ago.”

“He must’ve been in a real big hurry to go,” Joe remarked. “When I stepped up to the outer edge of this tree circle just now, I only saw YOU. No one else.”

“He WAS here, Uncle Joe,” Benjy insisted. “Honest! You heard us talking just now. You even said so.”

“Actually . . . I only heard YOU talking, Benjy,” Joe confessed.

“You . . . you don’t believe me, do you?” Benjy queried in a sullen tone of voice.

“Now don’t you go puttin’ words in my mouth, Young Man,” Joe admonished the boy. His nephew’s words and tone of voice had him feeling oddly on the defensive. “I never said that.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Joe,” the boy immediately apologized. “It’s just that when you said you didn’t see or hear him . . . . ”

“Just because I didn’t see or hear him, doesn’t mean he wasn’t here,” Joe explained in a kindlier tone. “Could be this other Benjy’s shy. That would explain why he left so quick, and why I never heard him speak. Sometimes people who are REALLY shy don’t speak very loud.”

“I guess . . . . ” Benjy knew a few shy people himself, and knew his uncle spoke true. The only flaw in Uncle Joe’s explanation was that he and the other boy were in the midst of an argument, practically yelling at each other.

“This other Benjy . . . he a new friend?”

Benjy thought the matter over for a moment. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe . . . I guess . . . . ”

Joe knew that about a dozen or so of the Ponderosa ranch hands had wives and families. Among the ranch hands’ children were about two or three boys around the same age as his nephew, but none of them were named Benjy. “Maybe the boy’s somebody’s visiting relative,” Joe silently mused. Jacob and Ellen Cromwell were expecting a visit from her sister’s boy, and Edgar Barnes’ two nephews from St. Louis were staying with HIM for the summer. “Benjy?”

“Yes, Uncle Joe?”

“Does your new friend have a last name?”

“He didn’t say.”

On the whole, Joe was gratified by the prospect of Benjy having made the acquaintance of another boy his age. His nephew’s bookishness, stiff bearing, formal manners, and painful shyness, frankly worried him. It relieved him to know that the boy had cultivated enough of the social graces to enable him to make friends. Benjy’s friendship with this OTHER Benjy would also provide him and his sister an opportunity to go their separate ways from time to time, easing some of the tension between them.

 _“Even so . . . I’d STILL feel a whole heckuva lot better if I knew exactly who this other Benjy is,” Joe mused uneasily, in silence._

“Uncle Joe?”

“Yes, Benjy?”

“Did you want me about something?”

“That was a pretty rough set-to you and your sister had earlier,” Joe said, fully sympathetic. “I saw her looking daggers at you across the table all through dinner. I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine, Uncle Joe, thank you.”

Joe grinned. “Good! Unless you need or want me for anything, I’ll let you get back to your book.”

“Thank you, Uncle Joe, for checking up on me.”

“My pleasure, Sport. We’re family, after all, and that’s what families do. See ya later.”

 

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” Dio angrily yelled at the four walls of the small spare room upstairs, her home away from home. “IT’S NOT, IT’S NOT, IT’S NOT!” She stamped her foot, with the full weight of her growing rage and frustration. The force of her foot striking wood floor set the windows and bric-a-brac rattling. Her fury pushed her to the edge of tears.

“It’s not fair!” Dio murmured again, this time very softly, as she wiped her eyes and cheeks with angry disdain, using the heel of her hand. Ma and Pa had promised her she could finally, at long last, learn to ride a horse when they came to spend the summer with Grandpa at the Ponderosa. That was all the way back in September, when school started. She had waited and waited for nearly a whole year. Now, thanks to Benjy, she probably wouldn’t get to learn at all. “It’s not fair!”

A soft knock on the door drew her from her angry musings. “Come in,” she sighed morosely.

She was a little surprised to see Grandpa walk into the room. She had half expected one or both of her parents, especially after that stern lecture from Pa about the dirty looks she had given Benjy throughout the entire noon meal.

“It’s turned out to be such a beautiful afternoon, I thought I’d take a buggy ride,” Ben said, as he seated himself on the edge of the bed beside her. “Would you like to come?”

“I don’t know, Grandpa . . . . ” she replied, troubled and uncertain.

“It would sure beat keeping yourself cooped up inside all afternoon.”

“Is Aunt Stacy coming, too?”

Ben shook his head. “Aunt Stacy, Uncle Joe, and Uncle Hoss are out racing Sun Dancer, getting him ready for the big Independence Day race next week.”

Her face fell. “Oh. What about Benjy?” A dark, angry scowl deeply furrowed her brow when she spoke her brother’s name.

“Before he left to race Sun Dancer, Uncle Joe told me that Benjy’s sitting under a big shady tree somewhere, reading a book. It’s just going to be you and me this time, Dio . . . if you want to come, that is.”

Her face brightened. “Just you and me, Grandpa?”

Ben nodded.

“Ok. Can I drive the horses? Please? I know how. Pa’s been teaching me.”

“I don’t see why not, once we get out on the road,” Ben replied. “Come on, get your shoes on. Before you know it, it’s going to be supper time.”

Dio quickly slipped on her shoes, then happily trotted out of the room alongside her grandfather.

 

Outside, the buggy was hitched and waiting. Ben lifted his granddaughter up and gently placed her in the passengers’ seat, before climbing up into the driver’s seat. He backed the buggy away from the post to which it and the horse had been tethered, taking things slow and easy. He half expected Dio to be impatiently bouncing off the sides of the buggy by the time he turned the horse and set out toward the road. She almost certainly would have been had they made this trip yesterday. Today, however, she sat quietly on the seat beside him, with her hands folded in her lap.

“Grandpa?”

“Yes, Dio?”

“Where are we going?”

“You know, I hadn’t really given that much thought to where we might go,” Ben replied. “Is there any place YOU’D like to go?”

“Can we go watch Aunt Stacy, Uncle Joe, and Uncle Hoss race Sun Dancer?”

Ben smiled. “We sure can.”

The two of them rode in companionable silence until they reached the main road that led from the Ponderosa toward Virginia City.

“Dio, if I were to make a wild guess, I’d say you think a whole lot of Aunt Stacy,” Ben remarked casually.

Dio smiled. “I love Aunt Stacy the most in the whole wide world,” she declared, her voice carrying a glimmer of the boundless enthusiasm she usually displayed for the people she loved most, and the things of greatest interest. “After Ma and Pa, and you, Grandma, and my other grandpa, that is.”

“Aunt Stacy loves YOU very much, too, Dio.”

The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. “I don’t think she does, Grandpa,” Dio said in a quiet, solemn tone of voice. “Not anymore.”

Ben glanced over at Dio his face a caricatured mask of pure, unadulterated astonishment. “What makes you say that?”

“She said she’s not going to give me any more riding lessons,” Dio said dejectedly, her eyes dropped away from Ben’s face to her small hands, resting in her lap, with fingers interlaced.

“Did she say why?”

Dio frowned. “She said I had to tell Benjy I was sorry for what I said, but I’m not, Grandpa, I’m NOT!” She glanced up sharply, her lips thinned with anger, and her lower jaw set with the same fierce, stubborn determination Ben had seen many, many times in the faces of his own children, particularly this child’s father.

“I see,” Ben murmured softly. “Did Aunt Stacy tell you WHY you have to apologize to Benjy?”

Dio sighed. “It’s because I said he was a big sissy, ‘fraidy cat, crybaby.”

“Those weren’t very nice things to say.”

“I know, Grandpa,” Dio said contritely, “but Benjy made me look stupid in front of Aunt Stacy, just because I said CAN I, instead of MAY I.”

Benjy the smart, studious one, whose idea of a good time was to while away the hours of a lazy afternoon with his nose buried deep in a good book . . . and Dio, a young bundle of high energy and even higher spirits, who would far rather be outdoors, running and playing! They reminded Ben so much of Adam and Joe at their respective ages, it was almost frightening. Unfortunately, their closeness in age, four years as compared to the twelve between their father and uncle, meant that the two children found themselves thrown together a lot more often. Worse, and perhaps even more important, Benjy and Dio had no peacemaker in the middle, as had Adam and Joe.

“Making you look and feel stupid in front of Aunt Stacy wasn’t very nice either,” Ben agreed. “Benjy probably didn’t even realize he was doing that.”

“You mean it was like an accident?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Oh.” Dio silently digested the import of her grandfather’s words. At length, she looked up. A lot of the angry, stubborn, defiance, so palpable a scant moment ago, had vanished. “Grandpa?”

“Yes, Dio?”

“The things I said to Benjy WEREN’T like an accident,” she confessed ruefully. “I said those things on purpose. I guess, maybe I SHOULD tell Benjy I’m sorry.”

Ben nodded.

“I will when we get back, Grandpa. I promise,” Dio said, with a determined nod of her head for emphasis. “Can I have my next riding lesson again tomorrow?”

Ben smiled. “You’ll have to ask Aunt Stacy THAT question, but between you and me? I think she’ll probably say yes.”

 

“ON YOUR MARK . . . GET SET . . . GO!” Candy shouted, firing the starting gun on ‘go.’

Susannah O’Brien and her older brother, Jason, stood side by side on the rocky promontory overlooking the road, watching the race unfold between Joe Cartwright on that magnificent black and her friend, Stacy, riding the golden palomino. They lived with their father, Houston, and older sister, Crystal McShane, both widowed, along with Crystal’s young sons, Robert and Carey, on their own spread, the Shoshone Queen, named for their mother, a full blooded Shoshone, who had died many years ago, when Susannah was a baby. The O’Briens’ ranch was located a few miles south of Virginia City and the Ponderosa.

“Susannah?”

“Yeah, Jason?”

“Who is she?”

“She who?”

“She . . . HER!” Jason, much to her shocked amazement, pointed down toward Stacy and the palomino. “Who is SHE?”

His question prompted a wry roll of the eyes heavenward. “Honestly, Jason . . . . ”

Jason frowned. “What?”

“You really . . . honest ‘n truly . . . DON’T know who she is?!” Susannah exclaimed, incredulous. He had to be pulling her leg.

Jason shook his head. “Is she a relative of the Cartwrights?”

“Yes . . . you COULD say that she’s a . . . relative of the Cartwrights . . . . ”

Jason’s face fell. “Oh no! She’s not ADAM’S wife . . . is she? Pa said Adam and his family were visiting . . . . ”

Susannah immediately shook her head. “Are you kidding? Adam’s wife is OLD, for heaven’s sake. Why I’ll betcha she’s every bit as old as CRYSTAL, if she’s a day . . . maybe even OLDER!”

“I’m sure glad to hear that,” Jason declared with a smile, as he turned again to watch the young woman riding the golden palomino stallion.

“Jason . . . . ”

“NOW what?”

“You really DON’T know her, do you?” Susannah queried, as a devilish smile spread slowly across her lips.

“If I’d met a beautiful woman like her, who could ride a horse like that, I’d NEVER forget her, not in a million years.”

Susannah griped the reins of her horse tightly in both hands to keep from rubbing them together in devilish, villainous glee. “I’ll introduce you, if you’d like,” she offered, taking care to keep her tone neutral.

“You KNOW her?”

“Um hmm,” Susannah replied, nodding her head.

“Yes,” Jason said. His entire face glowed with an inner light. “I WOULD like you to introduce me. When?”

The joyous anticipation she saw mirrored in her brother’s face gave her pause. For one brief, insane moment she wavered on the edge of making a full confession as to the identity of his beautiful mystery woman. The moment quickly passed. “How about NOW?” she queried, in a tone of voice a touch too solemn.

“N-Now . . . as in . . . r-right now?!”

“Why not, Jason? There’s no time like the present, after all . . . . ” With that, she gently urged her mount down the narrow path, leading to the road below.

 

Ben, meanwhile, spotted his older sons, Adam and Hoss, up ahead, seated atop their mounts, Sport II and Chubb, respectively. Both horses stood quietly well off the road as Bonnie Prince Charlie and Sun Dancer thundered toward them, drawing closer and closer, with each passing second.

“Dio, you’d better let ME take the reins now,” Ben said.

“Ok, Grandpa,” Dio acquiesced. She quickly brought the two horses pulling their buggy to a halt, then passed the reins to her grandfather.

Ben immediately moved the buggy off the road, drawing up alongside Adam and Hoss a few minutes later.

“Pa, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that Sun Dancer had just sprouted wings and was flying,” Adam said, astonished and awed.

“How can you be so sure he AIN’T flyin’, Adam?” Hoss queried with a smile.

“To be perfectly honest, Big Brother, I’m NOT sure,” Adam retorted with a smile.

“They’re comin’ down the last stretch, Pa . . . . ”

Ben set the brake, and rose, shielding his eyes against the bright sun. He could see Stacy and Sun Dancer pulling ahead of Joe and Bonnie Prince.

“Grandpa, I can’t see!” Dio wailed in complete and utter dismay.

Adam glanced down, noticing his daughter’s presence for the first time. “Why don’t you come up here and sit with me, Princess?” he invited, patting the saddle in front of him. “You’ll be able to see everything from up here.”

“Can I, Pa?” Dio ventured, suddenly shy.

Adam smiled and held out both hands.

Ben lifted his granddaughter and handed over into her father’s waiting arms. Adam placed Dio on the saddle in front of him, then returned his attention to the race at hand.

“COME ON, AUNT STACY!” Dio shouted, her dark eyes glowing with excitement. “COME ON, SUN DANCER!”

Stacy and Sun Dancer led by two and a half lengths over Joe and Bonnie Prince Charlie, slowly, inexorably stretching to three, then three and a half.

“Pa, Sun Dancer really IS flying!” Adam declared as the lead stretched to four, then five lengths.

“Sun Dancer’s gonna leave Blake Wilson’s General Ulysses eatin’ his dust, that’s for dadburn sure,” Hoss declared with a proud smile.

Joe nudged Bonnie Prince Charlie to run faster. With his mouth and jaw both set with grim determination, he began to close the lead, down from four and a half lengths, to four, then three.

“COME ON, AUNT STACY!” Dio shouted. “COME ON, SUN DANCER! YOU CAN DO IT! YOU CAN BEAT ‘EM!”

Stacy nudged Sun Dancer to pour on his top speed. He easily regained the ground lost and increased to five and a half, five and three quarters, six lengths, then seven. He finally passed Hoss nearly eight lengths ahead of Bonnie Prince Charlie.

“YAY! AUNT STACY WON!” Dio cheered. “AUNT STACY WON!”

“She and Sun Dancer sure did, Dio!” Ben said, grinning from ear-to-ear with healthy doses of parental pride and the eager, almost childlike anticipation of his own competitive nature. “I can’t wait to see Blake Wilson’s face when Stacy and Sun Dancer cross that finish line miles ahead of Matt on General Ulysses.”

“Grandpa?”

“Yes, Dio?”

“Aren’t Uncle Joe and Aunt Stacy coming back here?”

“No,” Ben shook his head. “Sun Dancer and Bonnie Prince Charlie need to cool down after running so fast. Aunt Stacy and Uncle Joe are going to let the horses cool down on their way back home.”

“”Princess?”

“Yes, Pa?”

“You and I can catch up to ‘em on Sport here, if you wish,” Adam offered.

Dio thought the matter over, then shook her head. “We’d better not, Pa, ‘cause I need to talk to YOU.”

“Hey, Pa, we got company!” Hoss inclined his head toward two approaching riders, a tall, muscular young man a few years younger than Joe, and a young woman the same age as Stacy. Both sat tall in the saddle, with a natural, straight, almost regal posture. “Looks like Susannah ‘n Jason.”

“Jason?” Ben queried with a raised eyebrow.

Hoss nodded.

“I didn’t know he’d arrived home for the summer,” Ben mused thoughtfully.

“I think he was due in a day or two before Mrs. di Cordova came with Benjy ‘n Dio,” Hoss said.

Adam turned and stared, his dark eyes round with surprise. “THAT’S Susannah and Jason O’Brien?!” he echoed, incredulous.

“Yep!” Hoss nodded.

Adam shook his head. “Last time I saw Jason, he couldn’t been much older than Benjy is now, and Susannah . . . . ”

“Time flies when you’re having fun, Adam,” Ben teased.

“So it would seem . . . . ”

“Hi, Mister Cartwright . . . Hoss!” Susannah greeted the Cartwright clan patriarch and his biggest son cheerfully, with a bright smile. She turned toward the eldest of the Cartwright offspring and studied him for a long moment. “Adam?”

“At your service, Susannah,” Adam replied with a wry smile.

“I must say you’ve filled out quite nicely,” Susannah quipped without missing a beat. Her eyes strayed pointedly toward Adam’s girth.

“Susannah, manners!” Jason admonished his younger sister with a smile. “Hi, Mister Cartwright . . . Hoss. Good seeing YOU again, Adam.”

“Good seeing you, too, Jason,” Adam responded with a wry smile. “It’s a shame I can’t say the same about your sister.”

“Would you rather I had remarked on how well you had AGED?” Susannah retorted playfully.

Jason, meanwhile, turned to Dio and smiled. “Who’s THIS beautiful young lady?”

“My name’s Dolores Elizabeth Cartwright,” Dio politely introduced herself. “You can call me Dio. That’s what everybody else calls me. Adam Cartwright’s my pa.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dio. My name is Jason O’Brien, and this is my sister, Susannah.”

“You admit it, Jason?” Adam teased, drawing a dark glare from Susannah.

“Are you two Indians?” Dio asked.

Jason smiled. “Our ma was a Shoshone.”

“Was she a chief?” Dio asked, awed by the prospect of having just met a couple of real live, honest-to-goodness Indians.

“No,” Jason replied. “Our mother wasn’t a chief, but her father and grandfather were.”

“Jason . . . Susannah, would you like to come back to the house?” Ben invited. “Hop Sing baked up a big batch of chocolate chip cookies early this morning.”

“We’d LOVE to!” The O’Briens immediately chorused in unison.

 

Joe Cartwright finished brushing Bonnie Prince Charlie’s glossy black coat, then rubbed his long muzzle affectionately. “You did good today, Your Highness, you did REAL good! Time now to mosey on over to your stall for a well de— Hey!”

Stacy, in the midst of brushing Sun Dancer, glanced up sharply. “What’s the matter with YOU, Grandpa?”

“His Highness here won’t go into his stall,” Joe said, mystified.

Stacy frowned. “Why not?”

“Beats me!” Joe led the magnificent black gelding over to the nearest support beam and tethered his lead. He, then, returned to the stall and began to gingerly poke around through the straw covering the floor.

“Find anything?” Stacy asked, as Joe stepped out of the stall.

“Nope!” Joe shrugged and shook his head. “It’s a little chilly over here, though.”

“Oh?” Stacy looked over at her brother askance.

“Probably just a draft through a small mouse hole.” Joe shrugged it off. “After all that running around he just got through doing, I think I’ll put him in the empty stall over here, next to Blaze Face.”

Stacy finished brushing Sun Dancer and lead him to his own stall.

“I wonder what’s keeping Pa and the others?” Joe mused aloud as he and Stacy set themselves to the task of giving all the horses fresh hay and changing their water. “They should’ve been back by now.”

 

“Pa, I’m going to tell Benjy I’m sorry,” Dio told her father, as they set off together on Sport II, ahead of the others.

“I’m very happy to hear you say that,” Adam said, with all sincerity. “May I ask you a question?”

“Ok,” Dio replied with an indifferent shrug.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Grandpa and I talked about it,” Dio replied. “He told me that Benjy probably didn’t know he was being so mean. Like an accident.”

“Hmm. Your grandpa could be right about that,” Adam readily agreed.

“But, I WAS trying to be mean, Pa,” Dio continued, “ ‘cause I thought BENJY was being mean. That’s why I have to tell him I’m sorry.”

“You can do that when we get back to the house,” Adam said, making a mental note to speak to Benjy about this business of correcting his sister’s grammar, or anything else for that matter, in front of other people, especially in front of someone Dio admired. Benjy owed his sister an apology as well.

 

Joe and Stacy stepped from the barn into the waning late afternoon sunshine, just as Adam and Dio rounded the back corner of the barn and turned into the yard. “It’s about time the lot of you got back here, Oldest Brother,” Joe greeted Adam with an amused grin.

“We got way laid by neighbors,” Adam replied, as he brought Sport II to a stop. Stacy quietly moved forward to take the reins while Adam dismounted, then turned to help his daughter down. Dio immediately set off in search of her brother.

“Way laid by neighbors, eh?” Joe echoed, favoring his oldest brother with an amused grin. “Which neighbors?”

“The O’Briens . . . Jason and Susannah,” Adam replied, taking the reins back from his sister. “Word to the wise! Watch out for Susannah! That young warrior princess has the tongue of an adder.”

Ben drove the buggy into the yard a few moments later, with Susannah O’Brien riding beside him. Her horse, Star Fire, was tethered to the back. Jason and Hoss followed behind. Jacob Cromwell, with Mitch Cranston and Charlie Osbourne in tow, came to unhitch the buggy and stable the horses.

Susannah, meanwhile, had jumped down from the buggy, and within seconds caught her friend, Stacy, up in a big bear hug, that was returned with equal affection and enthusiasm.

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you until the race next week,” Stacy said smiling.

“Jason and I saw Sun Dancer out on the road,” Susannah said, returning her friend’s smile. “He’s gonna be out, around the tree, and back before Mister Wilson’s General Ulysses takes two steps!”

“That’s what Hoss says!”

“I’D give you a good run for your money on our Comstock King, but Crystal won’t let me.”

“Why not?”

“Because SHE insists on riding Comstock King herself,” Susannah replied with a melancholy sigh, then brightened. “You’d better watch out, too, ‘cause Crystal’s out to win.”

“Well you can tell her for me, that Sun Dancer and I are out to win, too.”

“I will,” Susannah eagerly promised. “In the meantime, I have someone with me who wants very much to meet you.”

“You do?!” Stacy scanned the faces in front of her with a frown. Pa, Hoss, Joe, and Jason . . . she knew them all.

Susannah took Stacy by the hand and marched over to where Jason stood talking with Hoss and Ben. “Jason, this is the young woman you asked to meet?”

Jason glanced up, favoring Stacy with a warm smile.

“Jason, I’d like you to meet Stacy Cartwright,” she said with a deliciously evil grin. Her eyes danced and gleamed with impish delight. “Stacy, I think YOU, ummm . . . RECOGNIZE . . . my brother, Jason?”

The warm smile quickly changed to one of shocked astonishment, coupled with openly frank admiration. “St-Stacy?! I . . . I . . . you . . . . ” Jason stammered. “When . . . when did y-you . . . . ?!?”

“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Jason,” Stacy wryly acknowledged Susannah’s introduction with an amused smile.

“When I left f-for college . . . y-you . . . you were . . . you were just a KID!” A skinny kid, all arms and legs, who had just sprouted to her present height. That growth spurt had accentuated her thinness. “N-Now . . . . ”

“Now you come home a couple of years later and you don’t even recognize me. Tell you the truth, I don’t know whether I should be flattered or insulted,” Stacy said, as she took him gently by the arm and steered him toward the house.

“While you’re thinking THAT one over, I’M going to think over how I’m gonna kill my sister,” Jason vowed, directing a baleful glare at his mischievous younger sister.

Susannah flashed Jason a smug cat-that-ate-the-cream grin and thumbed her nose for extra measure. Jason retaliated by sticking out his tongue.

“Susannah, I don’t believe this business of introducing Jason to Stacy,” Joe said, smiling, as he fell in step beside her. “He honestly didn’t recognize her? At all?”

“Nope.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a delightfully evil mind?

“Not in so many words and definitely not as a compliment,” Susannah retorted, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Thank you.”

Adam quietly followed Joe and Susannah into the house, while Ben and Hoss, moving a bit slower than the rest brought up the rear.

“Pa?”

“What is it, Hoss?”

The gentle giant looked over at his father, smiling. “Kinda looks like ol’ Jason’s really smitten with our gal, don’t it?”

“It sure does,” Ben was forced to agree, if grudgingly. “It sure as shootin’ does!”

 

“Benjy? Benjy, are you in here?” Dio called out as she entered the barn. She had already searched the house, the yard, even the corral for her brother, but had thus far come up empty handed. She asked Grandma and Hop Sing, but neither one of them seemed to know where Benjy was.

“I remember Uncle Joe saying that Benjy was out sitting under a tree reading his book,” Ma had said when Dio asked her.

The closest strand of trees, however, were those real big ones out behind the barn. Yesterday, when she and Aunt Stacy rode past there, she noticed at once how dark it appeared within that rough circle formed by those trees. She also remembered Aunt Stacy and Blaze Face giving that whole area a wide, respectful berth. Dio fervently hoped and prayed that Benjy would turn up in the barn, however ridiculous that notion may be.

“Benjy?” Dio poked her head into the tack room. She saw all the saddles placed on their blocks, bridles and halters neatly hanging from their proper hooks on the opposite wall, the horse blankets folded and stacked on a long shelf stretching the entire length of the wall into which the door opened. But there was no sign at all of Benjy.

Dio turned and moved through the main portion of the barn, where the horses were stabled. She recognized Blaze Face, Chubb, Cochise, Buck, her pa’s favorite, Sport II, Gentleman Jim, and of course, Guinevere and Sun Dancer. The horses her grandfather used to pull the buckboard, and buggy were also stabled, as was the black horse who lost that race to Sun Dancer a short while ago. Bonnie Prince, everyone called him. Dio frowned, upon realizing that the black horse wasn’t in his usual stall. She glanced down at the end of the row, and discovered, much to her surprise, that Bonnie Prince’s stall was empty. Curious, she walked over to investigate.

The closer Dio drew to Bonnie Prince Charlie’s empty stall, the colder it seemed to be. She was shivering by the time she reached the stall. “Th-this is c-crazy!” she grumbled under her breath, her teeth chattering. “It’s SWELTERING outside!”

She walked up to the stall entrance, and peered inside. There was clean straw on the floor for bedding and fresh hay to eat. Folding her arms tightly across her chest she entered the stall and peered into the water trough. The water was clean and clear, evidence that it had been recently changed, as well. Why had the Bonnie Prince been moved to that stall next to Blaze Face? Was it because of this strange cold?

“What are YOU doing here?” a voice, as ice cold as the air around Bonnie Prince Charlie’s empty stall, demanded.

Dio started, and whirled in her tracks. “Benjy Cartwright!” she said angrily. “You scared me to— ” She gasped. There was no one there. She stood, as if rooted to the spot, staring wide eyed and open mouthed, all the while vigorously rubbing her exposed forearms.

“Get out!” This time, the voice came from inside the stall.

Dio nearly jumped right out of her skin. She turned again, with heart slamming hard against her rib cage. The stall was empty. She automatically took a step backward, then another, away from Bonnie Prince Charlie’s stall.

She heard the sound of a child’s laughter, soft at first, like the sound of water moving over a rocky bed. There was no joy in this laughter, no sense of fun or play. It was very much like Johnny Whitman’s laugh the day he slowly tortured to death a baby bird that had fallen from its nest during morning recess. It seemed to be coming from behind her.

“B-Benjy?” Dio murmured her brother’s name, as she turned slowly, still shivering. There was no one there. Except for the horses, who were beginning to grow a little edgy themselves, she was alone. “BENJY, WHERE ARE YOU?” Dio shouted, her eyes darting from pillar to post, in manner not unlike those of a trapped wild animal.

The laughter slowly, steadily rose in volume. It seemed to be coming from Bonnie Prince Charlie’s stall one minute, then from behind her the next. The two horses that had pulled the buggy for herself and her grandpa, snorted softly as they began to restlessly move as allowed by the confines of their stalls, flanking either side of the Bonnie Prince’s empty one.

“BENJY, STOP IT!” Dio screamed, her wide staring eyes and pallid complexion mirroring the terror now mushrooming by leaps and bounds within her. “YOU STOP IT RIGHT NOW, OR . . . OR I’LL TELL MA AND PA!”

The laughter grew and swelled, until it seemed to be coming from everywhere in the barn all at once.

“Stop it, Benjy!” the voice cruelly mimicked her own. “Stop it right now, or I’ll tell Ma and Pa.”

One of the horses, Grandpa had used to pull the buggy, began to kick at the fast closed lower door that kept him confined within the enclosure of his stall. Cochise whinnied back nervously, as did Chubb.

“BENJY, STOP IT! IT’S NOT FUNNY!” Dio yelled, on the verge of tears.

“NOW who’s the big sissy, ‘fraidy cat, crybaby?” the voice sneered.

Dio abruptly turned heel and bolted for the open door. She had scarcely gone half a dozen steps when the barn door hinges began to squeak and groan. She froze. The barn door shuddered, then began to move, very slowly, of its own volition. Dio tried to move, to run, but her legs remained immobile, as if she had just taken root. All she could do was stand there and watch helplessly, with mounting horror, as the dark shadows in the barn slowly but surely swallowed up her only means of escape.

The mocking, derisive laughter grew louder, and louder. Cochise, Buck, even the gentle, easy-going Guinevere began to kick against the confines of their own stalls. Dio’s surroundings blurred and dissolved under a watery sheen of tears, and her desperate pleas quickly degenerated to unintelligible screams, intensely primal, more bestial than human.

 

“I’ll be working for Pa and Crystal for the rest of the summer and on into the fall, until after our cattle drive is over,” Jason said, as he reached for another chocolate chip cookie. “They’ve decided to pay me wages, most of which I’m putting aside so I can go back and complete my education. After the round up’s over, I’ll be working at the post office in town—”

Suddenly, Stacy, sandwiched between Jason and her brother, Joe, on the settee gasped. Her entire body went rigid.

“Yeah . . . . ” Joe murmured softly, his own posture straightening. “Something’s wrong!”

“Dio!” Adam and Teresa gasped in unison, as they exchanged uneasy glances.

“Come on!” Hoss moved out from his place behind the red, leather chair, occupied by Dolores di Cordova, and barreled across the room toward the front door with surprising speed and agility given a man of his height and mass. Stacy and Joe immediately leapt to their feet and ran after their biggest brother as fast as their legs could carry them.

“Stay here!” Adam said to his wife, his voice terse with urgency. He followed on the heels of his two youngest siblings.

“Ben? I . . . don’t understand . . . . ” Dolores shook her head, trying to make sense of the Cartwright offspring’s’ sudden departure.

“Something’s . . . going on with our horses,” Ben replied. “Hoss, Joe, and Stacy have developed something of a sixth sense when it comes to their own, and mine, too . . . and from the way Adam and Teresa are acting, it would appear that Dio’s right in the middle of it.” He slowly rose from his place in the blue chair. “Please excuse me. I’d better go lend them a hand.”

“Mister Cartwright, if you can use an extra hand, I’m volunteering,” Jason offered.

“Me, too, Mister Cartwright,” Susannah chimed in.

“Thank you,” Ben said gratefully. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

 

The instant Hoss set foot outside, his sharp ears picked up the percussive pounding of hooves against wood stalls, and something else. “Dio!” he whispered, in shocked astonishment. With mouth and chin grimly set, he redoubled he speed, reaching the closed door in seconds.

“DIO!? DIO, IT’S UNCLE HOSS! I’LL HAVE YA OUTTA THERE IN A JIFFY!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, to make himself heard over the rising din of his young niece’s near hysterical screaming and panicked horses beating against the confines of their stalls with their hooves. He seized hold of the handle and pulled. Much to his surprise and consternation, the door wouldn’t budge so much as a fraction of an inch. He pulled again, and again. The door remained firmly in place.

“Hoss, what’s the matter?” Joe demanded tersely, as he and Stacy reached the barn door.

“Dadburn it! I can’t get this door open,” Hoss replied, his voice filled with astonishment and dread. He wrapped the fingers of his other hand tightly around the handle and pulled again.

“Come on, Hoss, get your back into it!”

“I AM, Li’l Brother,” Hoss said defensively, as he continued to tug with all his might.

“Is there something we can use as a lever?” Joe mused aloud, his eyes casting about the ground surrounding him.

“There!” Stacy said tersely, pointing. Lying just on the ground, just inside the corral fence was a good stout tree branch. She bent down, retrieved it, then turned and ran back toward her brothers all in the same quick, fluid movement.

Joe gratefully nodded his thanks as he accepted the tree limb from his sister. Hoss’ straining and pulling succeeded in moving the door nearly half an inch. Joe jammed the narrowest end of the branch into the small crack and pushed with all his might, trying to help Hoss widen that opening.

“Stacy, what’s going on?” Ben demanded tersely, upon reaching his three younger children.

“The barn door’s stuck, Pa—”

Ben looked over at his daughter askance. “What do you mean that door’s stuck?!”

“Hoss and Joe both have been pushing and pulling for all they’re worth, but that’s as far as they’ve been able to get it open.”

Adam reached his father and younger siblings an instant later. “Pa . . . Stacy, what’s—” Suddenly, he froze as his own ears zeroed in on his daughter’s terrified screams. Both Ben and Stacy saw the blood drain right out of his face, leaving his complexion an ashen gray. “Oh my God! Dio!”

Three giant steps brought Adam alongside his youngest brother, still laboring frantically to help Hoss widen the opening. With a fierce scowl on his face, his mouth set in a thin, determined, angry line, he shoved Joe aside with a hard, powerful thrust of his arm.

The branch fell out of Joe’s hands, landing on the ground behind him with a dull thud. Joe suddenly found himself stumbling backward. He frantically waved his hands in ever widening circles, fighting desperately to regain his balance, to no avail. His right heel smacked up against the fallen tree branch, bringing him down hard on his backside.

Adam, meanwhile, wrapped his large hands and long fingers around the edge of the door handle, grasping hold as hard as he possibly could. Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels firmly in the surrounding earth and pulled, throwing the entire weight of his body into the move. Suddenly, the door opened with enough force to send both Adam and Hoss toppling to the ground.

Dio, blinded by tears and hysteria, bolted from the barn, screaming. Adam scrambled to his feet and set off after her at a dead run.

 

Ben Cartwright charged into the barn, with Joe and Stacy following close at his heels. Jason and Susannah O’Brien ran behind the two youngest Cartwrights, with Hoss bringing up the rear. Susannah, almost without thinking, turned and ran toward the door leading out to the corral, and threw it wide open. Stacy and Joe quickly released their own mounts, Blaze Face and Cochise, from their stalls and herded them toward the door that would take them to the corral beyond. While Stacy next turned her attention to Bonnie Prince Charlie, in the stable next to Blaze Face, Ben released Buck and Sun Dancer. Jason ran to the stalls holding Guinevere and Gentleman Jim, while Hoss released Chubb and Sport II from their stalls. Hoss and Jason then moved to release the horses, used to draw the Cartwrights’ buckboard and buggy.

The instant the horses reached the corral, they bolted toward the end farthest away from the barn. There, they quickly began to calm down.

“Hoss, it’s . . . it’s FREEZING in here!” Jason declared, as he and Hoss moved away from the stalls holding the draw horses. “I can almost see my breath.”

An astonished, puzzled frown creased Hoss’ brow upon realizing that Jason was absolutely right. “It shouldn’t ought t’ be THIS cold, dadburn it!”

“I admit it’s a little strange,” Jason agreed as he vigorously rubbed his forearms.

“Jason . . . Susannah, thank you very much for your help,” Ben said, favoring them with a grateful, if weary smile.

“Sure thing, Mister Cartwright,” Susannah returned his smile with an equally weary one of her own. “Any idea what spooked ‘em like that?”

“None!” Ben sighed and shook his head, completely mystified. “Everything seems to be in order, though Joe and Stacy are double checking to make certain. I just don’t understand it.”

“Hey, Pa,” it was Hoss. “I just realized somethin’.”

“What’s that, Son?”

“We ain’t seen hide nor hair o’ Benjy since we got back from racin’ Sun Dancer ‘n Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

“D-Did someone call me?”

Ben and Hoss turned, and saw Benjy standing framed in the barn door that opened out into the yard. He held his book in his left hand. His mouth opened into a big wide yawn.

“Where y’ been, Benjy?” Hoss asked.

“I sat down to read in that grove of trees behind the barn,” the boy replied, nodding his head in the general direction of the tree circle. “I fell asleep. Is, uh . . . is everything ok?”

“It seems our horses had a bit of a scare, but everything’s fine now,” Ben replied. “Tell you what? Hop Sing baked up a big batch of chocolate chip cookies this morning.”

“I know, Grandpa. I smelled them baking.”

“Well, why don’t you go on inside and have one?” Ben suggested with a smile. “Perhaps our friends, Jason and Susannah O’Brien will join you.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright, but Susannah and I had best mosey along,” Jason said. “It’s getting a bit late and our big sister’s worse than Hop Sing when we show up late for supper.”

“She and Pa aren’t real easy to live with if we don’t get our chores done before supper either,” Susannah added.

“Thank you again for all your help,” Ben said gratefully, looking from Jason to Susannah.

“You’re welcome, Mister Cartwright,” Susannah replied.

 

 

End of Part 1

 

***

 

1\. A bit of a historical note . . . .

Cream cheese was invented by American dairymen trying to recreate the French cheese, Neufchatel, in 1872. Cream cheese was first marketed under the brand name Philadelphia Brand Cream Cheese in 1880. In 1912, James L. Kraft invented pasteurized cheese. This led to the development of the pasteurized Philadelphia cream cheese, which has become the most popular ingredient used in making cheesecake today. The Kraft Cheese Company purchased the Phenix Cheese Company, the original manufacturers of the Philadelphia Brand Cream Cheese, in 1928.

Cheesecake also traces its origins back to ancient Greece. In 776 B.C.E., it is mentioned for the first time in recorded history as having been served to athletes participating in the first Olympic Games.


	2. Chapter 2

_"It was a most curious dream . . . . ”_ Benjy mused in silence as he ambled slowly back to the house.

He and the boy he’d met earlier this afternoon in that circle of trees out behind the barn, were running around, laughing and playing, completely invisible to everyone. He couldn’t remember how that had come about . . . exactly . . . .

He had forgotten other details as well, and the few he did remember, were fading way fast. He DID remember spooking the horses, and Dio, too. He almost laughed out loud upon remembering the look on her face, when the other Benjy practically stood right in her face and laughed at her, and she couldn’t even see him.

He felt a little bit of regret over scaring Grandpa’s horses, but none at all about giving his sister the fright of her life.

After all . . . .

. . . it was nothing less than she deserved . . . .

. . . even if it WAS only a dream.

By the time Benjy reached the front door, all he remembered of the dream was that it had been lots of fun. Upon entering the house, he froze as the sounds of a child sobbing wildly assailed his ears and awareness. The crying seemed to be coming from upstairs. Tucking his book under his arm, then went up to investigate.

Benjy found his parents and his grandmother clustered together in Dio’s room. Mother sat on the edge of the bed, with her arms wrapped firmly and protectively around his younger sister. Dio’s arms were about her mother’s neck and shoulders, clinging for dear life. Grandmother sat on the other side of the bed, behind Dio, gently rubbing her back, and murmuring quiet words of reassurance in Spanish. Papa stood, hovering close by, with a glass of diluted brandy in one hand, and a soupspoon in the other.

“Mother? Papa? What’s going on?” Benjy asked as he ventured into the room.

Upon hearing her brother’s voice, Dio immediately lifted her head, and favored him with a malevolent glare, filled with all the anger and hatred she could summon. Her eyelids and upper lip were red and swollen to at least twice their normal dimensions, and her cheeks were patchworks of angry red overtop pale skin.

Benjy involuntarily took a step backward, and raised his arms in front of his face, as if preparing to ward off physical blows. Her appearance shocked and frightened him.

“G-GET OUTTA HERE!” Dio screamed, as tears continued to pour from her eyes and flow down her cheeks.

Benjy stood, as if he had all of a sudden taken root, stunned by the raw intensity of his sister’s rage.

“GET OUTTA HERE!” she screamed again, as she wept. “M-MA, PLEASE! MAKE HIM G-GET OUTTA HERE!”

Adam quietly set the glass and spoon in hand down on the night table, then crossed the room to the door where his young son still remained, staring over at his sister, open mouthed with shock. “Come with me, Benjy,” he said quietly, as he slipped a paternal arm about the young boy’s shoulders. Together, they walked in silence down the hall toward Benjy’s room.

“P-Papa?” Benjy ventured, when they finally reached the door to his room. “What happened? Why is Dio so upset?”

“Your sister had a very bad scare out in the barn a little while ago,” Adam said quietly. “For some reason, she thinks YOU were responsible.”

Every last bit of color drained right out of Benjy’s face. “Me?!” he echoed, incredulous, in a voice barely audible.

Adam nodded.

“She’s lying, Papa!” Benjy accused, his face darkening now with anger. “She IS, I SWEAR she is! I wasn’t even in the barn . . . not when DIO was. I came to the barn door later. I DID, Papa, honest! I did.” He gazed up into Adam’s face earnestly beseeching for a moment, then looked away. “You can ask Grandpa if you don’t believe me,” he added in a sullen, angry tone.

Adam placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Benjy, I believe you, and I think Dio will, too, after she’s had a chance to calm down and think things through a little bit. In the meantime, however, until she DOES calm down, it might be a good idea for you to stay away from her.”

“I will . . . gladly!” Benjy angrily shot right back. Given the way he felt at that very moment, if he never saw his sister again . . . ever . . . that would suit him just fine.

“I’m going to go on back and check up on your sister and your mother,” Adam said quietly.

He sighed. “Ok, Papa.”

Something in that sigh gave Adam pause. “Benjy?”

“Yes, Papa?”

“Is there . . . something else . . . . ?!”

“No, Papa. If it’s ok, I think I’ll just go to my room and read.”

“That’s fine, Son. I’ll look in on you in a little while.”

Benjy stepped into his room and quietly closed the door. He placed his book on top of the dresser, then walked over and dejectedly collapsed onto the bed. He was so sure that the mean words Dio had said to him this morning coupled with her obstinate refusal to apologize would keep her out of favor with everyone, at least for a little while. But that vision of Mother, Papa, and Grandmother, all gathered around her, fawning over her like they ALWAYS did, said otherwise.

“It’s not fair!” Benjy muttered angrily under his breath as he turned his face toward the window. “It’s just not fair!”

Mother and Papa were always doting on Dio, spoiling her, indulging her every whim. Even Grandmother as angry and exasperated as she had been with Dio the entire way out from their home in Sacramento, was all forgive and forget by the time they had arrived in Virginia City. Dio got hugs and kisses from Grandpa, too, while all HE got was a handshake. Aunt Stacy even let Dio ride home with her on Blaze Face. Now, after supposedly suffering a bad scare out in the barn, she was once again back in everyone’s good graces, the cruel words she had said to him, completely forgotten . . . .

. . . and worst of all . . . Dio actually blamed HIM for scaring her.

“I’ll bet anything Dio’s faking all that screaming and crying,” Benjy angrily groused aloud.

“No fun being left all alone is it?”

Benjy started violently, nearly toppling right off the bed. He turned and found his new friend standing behind him, in the middle of the room. “Y-you scared me!”

“Sorry.”

Benjy propped himself up on his elbows, and studied his new friend with a bewildered frown for a moment. “How did you get up here?” he asked.

“I came in.”

“Did my family let you in?”

“I came in.” The other Benjy walked over to the dresser and glanced down at the book. “You like to read?”

“Yeah.”

“I never learned how,” he said softly, his voice filled with regret. “My ma, though . . . she loves to read.” Memories of his mother sitting down at the end of the day with a book in hand, brought a wistful smile to his face. “She used to read me stories at bedtime every night until . . . until . . . . ?!”

“Until when?”

A bewildered frown appeared on the other Benjy’s face for a moment, as he pondered the question, then shrugged with an air of supreme indifference. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I guess until they left.”

Benjy Cartwright moved the edge of the bed, and sat up, dangling his legs over the side. “THEY left?” he asked. “They who?”

“All of ‘em! My ma, my pa, my brothers and sisters! Even my aunt and uncle and my grandparents! They all left!”

“They left?!”

“They ain’t here, are they?”

“Y-You mean . . . your parents, brothers and sisters . . . and the rest of your family . . . actually went off and left you here?!” Benjy Cartwright queried, unable to believe his ears.

“Well if they AIN’T here . . . and I still AM . . . figure it out for yourself, Stupid Head!”

Benjy initially bristled against his new friend’s insult and condescending tone of voice, then, a moment later, shrugged it off, as his natural curiosity got the better of him. “What happened?” he demanded. “Did they . . . did they DIE?”

The frown on the other Benjy’s face deepened. “I dunno . . . some of ‘em did, I think . . . maybe . . . . ” He sighed and dolefully shook his head. “I dunno where they went.”

“Who looks after you now?”

The other boy shrugged his shoulders, and again shook his head. “I guess I do, mostly.”

“Don’t you live with anyone?”

“No. Just me, all by myself! Benjy?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go outside and play.”

“Ok!”

“Race ya down the stairs!” The other Benjy abruptly turned heel and bolted out of the room.

Benjy Cartwright hopped down from the bed and ran after his newfound friend. The two boys tore down the hall and stairs, laughing and shouting at the tops of their voices.

“Benjy!”

He stopped at the landing mid-way between first floor and second. Turning, he looked up and saw his father leaning against the banister upstairs, glaring down at him.

“Benjy, your mother and I just got Dio off to sleep,” Adam said sternly. “I would appreciate it very much if you played QUIETLY.”

“O-Ok, Papa. Benjy . . . . ” he turned to pass his father’s admonition for quiet on to his friend, only to find himself quite alone. Benjy walked down the stairs slowly, scratching his head the entire way. What happened to his friend? Was he outside already, waiting?

Benjy stepped through the front door and walked out into the yard. His new friend was nowhere to be seen. “Benjy? Benjy, are you hiding?”

No answer.

“BENJY!? BENJY! WHERE DID YOU GO?” Benjy called out, louder.

“Benjy?”

He turned just as Ben stepped out of the barn. “I’m looking for my friend, Grandpa,” he said, as he fell in step alongside his grandfather. “His name’s Benjy, just like me!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! He’s a little taller than me, with brown, real curly hair,” Benjy explained. “We were racing each other down the stairs inside, until Papa came and told us to be quiet.”

Ben frowned. “You mean to tell me this boy was in the house?!”

“Yeah, h-he came up to my room,” Benjy said warily, noting the scowl on his grandfather’s face.

“This boy . . . this OTHER Benjy . . . you said he’s a friend of yours?”

Benjy slowly, warily nodded his head. “I just met him today, Grandpa,” he explained, “out there . . . under those trees behind the barn.” He turned and pointed.

“That’s fine, Benjy,” Ben said, his voice softening. “I’m glad to see you’ve made a new friend . . . but I would really appreciate it if you’d would ask him NOT to venture into the house without an invitation.”

“I, uhhh . . . Grandpa? Y-You saying that . . . n-nobody . . . let him in?!”

The round staring eyes, and mouth gaping open compelled Ben to swallow the sharp retort that had immediately risen to the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “No, Benjy,” he said finally, in a tone far kinder than might have been. “I was in the barn just now with Uncle Joe and Aunt Stacy, trying to figure out what spooked the horses . . . AND your sister. Hoss and Hank are in the corral checking the horses, making sure THEY’RE alright, and your parents and grandmother have probably been with Dio from the time we finally got her out of the barn.”

 

 _“How did you get up here?”_

 

Benjy silently replayed the start of the conversation he had with the other Benjy, just a short while ago.

 

 __

“I came in.”

 _“Did my family let you in?”_

 _“I came in . . . . ”_

 

“Sorry, Grandpa,” Benjy murmured contritely, as he looked up and met Ben’s warm brown eyes with his own, the same color. “I . . . I was so sure he’d . . . that umm someone let him in, but I guess they didn’t.”

“It’s all right,” Ben placed a paternal arm around his grandson’s shoulders, “no harm done. Just be sure to tell him not to wander in again, unless he’s been invited.”

“I will, Grandpa,” the boy promised eagerly. He found the idea of his new friend, the other Benjy, walking right on into the house, without having been asked first, a little unsettling himself.

 

“Well, Honorable and Venerable Older Brother Sir . . . . ”

Joe grimaced, as he rubbed his forearms against the cold, still lingering in the barn. “What happened to Grandpa?”

“With Benjy and Dio calling PA Grandpa and me calling YOU Grandpa, things could get a little confusing, so I decided to call you Honorable and Venerable Older Brother Sir like you asked me to the day Adam and Teresa arrived,” Stacy explained.

“Coming outta YOUR mouth, Little Sister, it sounds like the absolute worst insult anyone’s ever thrown at me,” Joe countered with mock severity. “I think I’d rather go back to Grandpa, if it’s all the same to you, confusion or NO confusion.”

“All right . . . GRANDPA!”

“That’s better . . . KIDDO!”

Joe and Stacy glared at each other, for a long moment. The former stuck out his tongue. Stacy returned the gesture before both of them dissolved into a brief fit of the giggles.

“You find anything, Stace?” Joe asked, as their laughter dissipated.

“Not a thing!” Stacy shrugged. “I raked every last bit of straw out of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s stall, got down on my hands and knees, and . . . nothing! Not even the mouse hole the cold air’s supposed to be coming through!”

“I can’t find anything either,” Joe shook his head, thoroughly perplexed. “No sign of any kind of wild animal . . . TWO-legged or FOUR legged, all the horses are present and accounted for, the tack room’s in order, nothing seems to be missing . . . I’m just plain at a loss to explain what happened with the horses and Dio.”

“They were all pretty badly frightened.”

Joe nodded grimly. “I think our horses are STILL spooked. They’re moving around the corral outside freely enough, but they still shy away from the barn.”

“I’m starting to feel a little creepy myself,” Stacy observed wryly as she blew warming breath on her chilled fingers. “Joe?”

“Yeah, Stacy?”

“I hate like anything to even suggest this, but . . . . ” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Is it possible that Dio’s right? That Benjy WAS in here trying to scare her?”

“Anything’s possible, of course, but I don’t think it was Benjy . . . not OUR Benjy anyway . . . . ”

“What do you mean not OUR Benjy?” Stacy asked.

“It seems Benjy’s made a new friend, Kid,” Joe explained, “a boy whose name also happens to be Benjy.”

Stacy frowned. “But . . . there’s no one Benjy’s age . . . NAMED Benjy, living here on the Ponderosa.”

“I figure he’s more ‘n likely a visiting relative.”

“Yeah . . . you’re right, Grandpa,” Stacy agreed, knowing that at least two of the men who worked for their father had young people visiting them for the summer. “Have you met this new friend of Benjy’s . . . OUR Benjy that is?”

“No,” Joe replied, shaking his head, “not exactly . . . . ” He shared with her the circumstances by which he had learned about their nephew having made a new friend.

Stacy silently mulled over everything her brother had just told her. “ . . . and you think maybe this OTHER Benjy snuck in here and scared Dio and our horses?”

“I think it’s a definite possibility,” Joe said grimly. “I saw OUR Benjy when we finally got the barn door open. He looked like somebody who had just woken up from a nap, and he had pine needles on the seat of his britches. I believe he was telling the truth when he said he fell asleep while he was reading under a tree.”

“Stacy . . . Joe, how’s it coming?” Ben asked, as he walked into the barn.

The two younger Cartwright offspring gave their father a capsulated version of the conversation they had just had with each other.

Ben scowled when Joe mentioned the possibility of Benjy’s new friend having been the one responsible for scaring Dio and the horses. “He told me his new friend actually came into the house looking for him, without being invited first. I asked Benjy to tell his friend that he’s not to come in the house without an invitation.”

“He didn’t do anything while he was in the house, did he?” Joe asked.

Ben shook his head. “No, nothing was broken or stolen as far as I could see, but all the same, I don’t like the idea. I think maybe we’d all better keep a sharp lookout for this other Benjy.”

 

“Sorry, Adam, I don’t know of any boy living here on the Ponderosa named Benjy, apart from your son.” Candy shook his head, after giving Adam’s question careful thought. “Mrs. Cromwell got a letter from her sister the other day saying that her nephew WON’T be coming to visit, and Mister Barnes’ nephews aren’t boys really . . . they’re practically grown men, what with the one being seventeen and the other fifteen. I’ll ask around, though.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” Adam said gratefully. He, then, returned to the house and walked straight upstairs to his daughter’s room. “Teresa?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“How’s Dio?”

“Sleeping,” Teresa replied softly. “A good long nap’s probably the best thing for her right now, but . . . I hope it doesn’t interfere with her sleep tonight.”

“Not to worry,” Adam said quietly. “Hop Sing can brew up an herbal tea after supper that will help her sleep through the night, if necessary.”

“Is Benjy all right?”

“He’s in his room reading at the moment,” Adam replied. “I told him it might be a good idea to stay away from Dio, until she’s had a chance to calm down, but . . . . ”

“What is it, Adam?” Teresa anxiously prompted.

“I . . . . ” He sighed. “I . . . can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s . . . that he’s holding out on us somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I suggested that he and his sister keep their distance for awhile? For a minute . . . something in his voice . . . the way he looked at me . . . left me with the impression that there was something he wanted to say . . . but couldn’t,” Adam tried to explain, “ . . . or wouldn’t.”

“Adam . . . Teresa?”

They turned and found Dolores standing framed in the doorway to their daughter’s room.

“I’m sorry . . . it wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop,” Dolores said ruefully as she stepped from the hall into the room occupied by her granddaughter. “I meant to show you this yesterday, but I was so exhausted when I arrived, it completely slipped my mind.” She reached into the left pocket of her skirt and drew out an envelope, neatly folded in two, and passed it to Adam.

“What is it, Mother?” Teresa asked.

“Benjy’s final report card.”

Adam glanced at the envelope, as he and Dolores continued down to the first level. It was addressed, “Mister and Mrs. Cartwright,” on the front, in the bold, angular strokes that defined the handwriting of Mister Ian Townsend, Benjy’s teacher for the past year. Benjamin Eduardo was written below his and Teresa’s names.

Adam opened the flap and pulled out Benjy’s school report. His eyes widened more and more with shock and astonishment as they moved down the column showing Benjy’s grades for the second half of the school year. The terse note written at the bottom of the report card, dated the last day of school, read as follows:

“Taking into account Benjamin’s past scholastic performance, he is promoted to the next grade ON PROBATION. I know he is more than capable of doing the work required. However, if his grades do not improve during the course of the first nine weeks, he will be compelled to repeat the fifth grade.”

 

Stunned, shaken to the core of his being, Adam pulled a second piece of paper from the envelope. It was a letter from Mister Townsend:

 

“Dear Mister and Mrs. Cartwright,

I am heartily disappointed not only in Adam Benjamin’s poor scholastic performance over the course of the last remaining six weeks of the school year, but of what I can only view as your complete indifference. A letter informing you of Adam Benjamin’s decline in scholastic performance and growing problems in behavior was sent home with the student one month before the end of the school year. As of this writing, I have yet to hear from either you or Mrs. Cartwright.

As I noted on his report, Adam Benjamin will be passed to the next grade on a probationary status. He is a bright, intelligent young man, more than capable of doing the work required. If his grades do NOT significantly improve during the first quarter of the next school year, we will have no choice but to compel him to repeat his fifth year.

 

Sincerely yours,  
Mr. Ian Townsend.”

 

“Dolores . . . why don’t we go downstairs?” Adam suggested, as he returned his son’s report card and accompanying letter from the boy’s teacher to the envelope. “I . . . have a few questions I’ve been meaning to ask you . . . . ”

“Yes, of course,” Dolores immediately agreed. “Teresa?”

“I’d better stay here with Dio . . . in case she wakes up,” Teresa said very quietly. “Given how frightened and upset she was . . . she’s probably going to want me.”

“If you or Dio need anything, we’ll be in the great room downstairs,” Adam said, as he handed the envelope in hand over to his wife . . . .

 

“No, Adam . . . I didn’t see any correspondence from the school or Benjy’s teacher,” Dolores said, almost apologetically, as she made herself comfortable on the settee. “Of course I never even thought to ask . . . . ”

Adam sat down in the blue chair next to the fireplace, to Dolores’ right. “That’s completely understandable,” he hastened to reassure his distraught mother-in-law. “You had no way of knowing that Benjy had done so poorly in his schoolwork.”

“I SHOULD’VE known!”

The angry vehemence by which she had uttered those words shocked and surprised him. “I’m . . . not sure I understand,” Adam ventured, with a bewildered frown.

“Oh, Adam . . . . ” Dolores groaned softly, “you know how enthusiastic Benjy is about school? How eager he is to talk about what he learned with Eduardo?”

“Yes . . . . ”

“Well, almost from the start, he said nothing,” Dolores continued. “Eduardo, spent the first week questioning the boy relentlessly about school . . . and what he learned . . . but the only things Benjy would say were yes, no, and fine.”

“That IS odd,” Adam had to agree. “Benjy’s ALWAYS been fond of talking about what he learns in school with Eduardo.”

“I finally asked Eduardo to stop badgering the boy with questions,” Dolores continued, her voice filled with deep regret. “I thought maybe he was going through some sort of phase, or something . . . . ”

Adam fell silent, as he did some mental figuring. From the approximate dates given in Mister Townsend’s letter, the decline in Benjy’s grades and the start of his behavior problems seemed to coincide with the approximate date he sent a wire, asking the di Cordovas to cancel travel plans for Dolores and the children, until he and Teresa sent for them.

An old friend from Adam’s past had come to the Ponderosa, seeking refuge from an abusive husband, who turned out to be violently insane. The husband had raped and tortured a bar maid to death back in San Francisco. Her father-in-law had packed them off to exile in Placerville until he could get his son exonerated of all charges and have the entire incident swept under the rug. Not wanting to expose their children or Teresa’s mother to the grave danger posed by this man, Adam and Teresa had jointly agreed to send that telegram. Teresa followed it up with a letter explaining the full details to her parents.

“Dolores?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“Did Benjy, by any chance happen to see either the wire I sent, or Teresa’s letter, asking you not to come until we sent for you?” he asked.

“No, absolutely NOT,” Dolores declared, with an emphatic shake of her head. “Eduardo locked the wire and Teresa’s letter in our safe, since the latter had instructions in case something happened to the both of you. But we made absolute certain that neither Benjy nor Dio saw those correspondences.”

“How did they take the news of the delay?”

“Dio was the one who was most upset,” Dolores replied. “She had been looking forward to visiting your family here on the Ponderosa since the beginning of school last fall. She sulked at home for the better part of that first week, but I had no complaints from the school or her teachers.”

“And Benjy?”

“He took the news very stoically, as is typical of him most of the time, though, in retrospect, he seemed a little relieved.”

“Relieved?” Adam looked over at his mother-in-law, one eyebrow raised in mild surprise.

Dolores, in turn, favored him with a puzzled frown. “In a way, that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, Adam, seeing as how much he’s afraid of horses these days.”

“What?!” This piece of information took Adam wholly by surprise. “Since when?”

“Since the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi, last October, remember? About the procession? That horse nearly stepping on Benjy?”

Adam had not attended the procession himself, but he remembered Teresa grimly filling him in on the details. One of the horses, a skittish young mare, was being led to the church for the annual blessing and prayers for the animals given on the feast day of their patron saint. A couple of children, young boys about Benjy’s age, set off a half dozen firecrackers, terrifying the mare. In her frantic attempts to flee, she broke her lead and began to run, beating a straight path toward the spot where Benjy stood, rooted by his own escalating fear. The quick and timely action by a uniformed policeman, running in and carrying Benjy to safety, tucked under his arm, saved the boy from what might have been serious and debilitating injury. In fact, that policeman had very likely saved Benjy’s life.

“I honestly, I had no idea,” Adam murmured, feeling heartsick at the prospect of his practically shoving Benjy into the barn earlier that day, so that he might learn how to properly stable a horse. And with Dio compounding things with her cruel taunting . . . . “Dolores, did Benjy tell you this?”

“About being afraid of horses?”

Adam nodded.

“No, Dio did actually, while they were with Eduardo and me after you and Teresa left to come here. She didn’t tell either of you?”

“She didn’t tell me, and I’m reasonably sure she didn’t tell Teresa either, because TERESA would have certainly told me.”

“I’m sorry, Adam. I honestly thought you and Teresa knew.”

“It seems Benjy’s become very good at keeping things to himself over this past year,” Adam said grimly. “TOO good, perhaps. Any idea what prompted Dio to tell you?”

“Benjy’s best friend, Juan Cortez, had a big birthday party the Saturday before the last week in school,” Dolores replied. “Benjy didn’t go. He told Eduardo and me he hadn’t been invited, but Adam, it was an out-and-out bold faced lie. Cecelia, our housekeeper, found the invitation hidden under his pillow, when she went in to change the bed linens. She immediately brought it in to me.

“Eduardo and I asked Benjy about it that night at supper. Benjy kept right on insisting that he had not been invited. Eduardo got pretty irate, I’m afraid,” she continued ruefully. “Poor Dio, I think being upset enough about the delay in coming here, blurted out about Benjy being afraid of horses and how, that whole last week, it seemed, the kids in the school had been mercilessly tormenting the boy about it.”

“It must have been pretty hard on her, too, having to stand by and watch as the older kids made fun of her brother,” Adam sighed and shook his head. “I think Teresa and I need to sit down and have a long serious talk with both of them.”

“Please, Adam, don’t be too hard on them?”

“Teresa and I agree that Benjy and Dio need to apologize to each other for what they said out in the tack room this morning . . . AND to Stacy as well,” Adam said firmly.

“Yes . . . she was a little upset now that you mention it.”

“Stacy was VERY upset,” Adam said, “and speaking for myself, I can’t say as I blame her. We also need to come to an understanding on a few things, not the least of which is Benjy’s final report.”

 

A few moments later, Adam returned to the guest room Dio had chosen to be her own. His young daughter lay sprawled on top of the bed, with a light cotton blanket over her, courtesy of her distraught maternal grandmother. Teresa sat in a straight hard backed chair, her attention equally divided between Dio and the open book in her lap.

“Teresa?” Adam called his wife’s name very softly as he stepped into the room.

Teresa turned and looked up expectantly into her husband’s face and eyes.

“Dio asleep?”

Teresa nodded.

“Would you feel all right about stepping out here into the hall for a few minutes?” Adam asked.

Teresa nodded once again. She rose, and after marking her place, set her book down on the seat of her chair.

“Has Dio been asleep the whole time?” Adam asked, as he and his wife moved out into the hallway.

“She stirred a couple of times, but I can’t say she actually woke up.”

“Did she say anything more about what happened?”

“No.” Teresa shook her head.

Adam first shared with his wife everything Dolores has told him downstairs. The stunned look on her face told him this was the first time she had heard a good deal of this, too.

“Oh, Adam,” Teresa groaned softly, her voice filled with contrition and remorse. “I had no idea . . . no idea in the world Benjy was so frightened of horses . . . and I was there when he was nearly stampeded.”

“Neither of us had any way of knowing . . . not really,” Adam quickly pointed out. “He never said a word to US or his grandparents about the kids at school teasing him, and . . . he’s not had to really confront his fear head on . . . until he came here.”

“Even so, I still feel badly about not having even the slightest inking,” Teresa lamented.

“So do I,” Adam confessed, “but at the moment, that’s not our biggest worry.”

“Oh?”

“I found out that Benjy made a new friend this afternoon . . . . ”

“Really?”

“Another boy, whose name is also Benjy.” Adam shared with his wife all that his father, his youngest brother, and Candy had told him about their son’s new friend.

“I don’t like the sound of this Adam,” Teresa said grimly.

“I can’t say I care much for it either,” Adam agreed. “If this other Benjy IS responsible for what happened out in the barn, we could be dealing with someone very disturbed emotionally.”

“You think maybe we should tell Benjy not to associate with this boy?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Adam replied. “On the other hand, we don’t know for sure that he was responsible for what happened out in the barn. I’d hate to break up their friendship, then find out Benjy’s new friend WASN’T the culprit.”

“You have a point,” Teresa reluctantly agreed.

“Teresa . . . . ”

“Yes, Adam?”

“We both agree that the four of us need to sit down together . . . as a family . . . and nip some things in the bud,” Adam said. “I’m beginning to think that needs to happen sooner rather than later.”

“I agree with you, Adam, one hundred percent . . . but not tonight,” Teresa said firmly. “Dio needs time to calm down. I think tomorrow morning, after breakfast, would be a better time.”

“I have an idea,” Adam said slowly. “If Pa doesn’t need the buckboard tomorrow, maybe we could borrow it and drive out to the lake. Just the FOUR of us! That way, we’ll have the entire day to talk things out, and come to some understandings . . . WITHOUT interruptions.”

Teresa favored her husband with an odd, bemused look. “Without interruptions?”

Adam smiled. “From grandparents, uncles, and aunt,” he replied. “Their intentions may be well meant, but I’m of the opinion we need to keep this between us and the kids.”

“Absolutely,” Teresa declared with a curt nod of her head for emphasis, “and the trip out to the lake . . . just the FOUR of us, is a wonderful idea. You think Hop Sing might be willing to pack us a picnic lunch?”

Adam smiled. “I think he can be persuaded.”

 

Young Benjy Cartwright, meanwhile, spent the better part of an hour reading the same paragraph over and over, before finally tossing aside his book in disgust.

 __

“It’s not fair!” he groused aloud as he slid off of his bed. His feet hit the floor with a light thud. “They ALWAYS believe HER! ALWAYS!”

 _They’re liars. ALL of ‘em. Nuthin’ but no-good, dirty, stinkin’ LIARS._

 _Benjy froze. The words echoing through his head spoke with his new friend’s voice. He slowly, reluctantly glanced around the room, but saw no one. He was very much alone. He exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief. He was in enough trouble already with Dio accusing him of whatever it was that had scared her so badly out in the barn earlier this afternoon. The last thing he needed was to be in more trouble with Grandpa because the other Benjy had decided to just let himself into the house again._

 _They ARE, you know._

 _“What they?” Benjy asked as he began to unconsciously pace alongside his bed._

 _Little Sisters. I should know. I have two._

 _“Did yours get you in trouble all the time?”_

 _You betcha. They’d do all sorts of bad things, then run and tell Ma ‘n Pa that Ellie and me did it._

 _“Who’s Ellie?”_

 _My OLDER sister. Older sisters ain’t so bad actually. Just YOUNGER sisters._

 _“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have any older sisters.”_

 _I have an older sister, two YOUNGER sisters, and two younger brothers. Younger brothers can be bad, too, sometimes, but no where NEAR as bad as younger SISTERS._

 _“It’s not fair,” Benjy groused. “Bad enough they love Dio best, but when they believe all her LIES . . . well, its just plain not fair.”_

 _You wanna make ‘em sorry?_

 _“Who?”_

 _Why . . . ALL of ‘em, of course! Your ma and pa, your grandma, your grandpa, your uncles and your aunt. Even Dio. You can make HER sorry, too._

 _“How?”_

 _Come with me._

 _“Go with you?! Where?”_

 _Nowhere. We’ll stay right here._

 _“How will THAT make ‘em sorry?” Benjy asked, intrigued by his new friend’s suggestion._

 _Because we can see THEM, but they won’t be able to see US. Remember?_

 _He smiled. “Oh yeah . . . . ”_

Benjy?!

Hey, come on, Benjy! Wake up ‘n shake a leg!

Benjy’s eyes immediately snapped open and with a loud, startled gasp, he bolted from prone to sitting.

“Sorry I startled you, Sport.”

He abruptly turned and found himself staring into the anxious face of Uncle Joe. “It’s ok,” Benjy murmured softly. “I . . . I guess I must’ve been really tired. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

“You ok?”

“Yes, I’m fine now.”

“I just came up to tell you that supper’ll be ready in five minutes! You’ve got just enough time to get washed up.”

“Uncle Joe, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Aunt Stacy . . . she’s kind of like your little sister, isn’t she?” Benjy asked, as he slid across the bed and dropped silently to the floor.

A smile slowly spread across Joe’s lips. “No kind of about it, Sport. Your aunt, Stacy, IS my little sister.”

“Does she ever lie about you and get you into trouble?” Benjy asked.

“No,” Joe replied, with an emphatic shake of his head. “That’s one thing we . . . your grandpa, Uncle Hoss, and I found out pretty early on about Aunt Stacy. She’ll own up to her own part in something, but she won’t tell on anyone else.”

“Never?”

“Never,” Joe confirmed.

“You’re lucky,” Benjy sighed morosely.

Joe paused at the door for a moment, then turned. “Benjy, I hope you’re not worried about being in trouble because of what happened to Dio out in the barn earlier.”

Benjy gazed up at his uncle for a long moment, his eyes round with awe. “Uncle Joe, h-how . . . how did y-you . . . how did you KNOW?”

“I took a wild guess, actually,” Joe admitted as the two of them moved out into the upstairs hall. “I guess with Dio being so shook up ‘n all, no one’s had the chance to talk to you, but we all know you had nothing to do with what happened to your sister and our horses out in the barn.”

“Do YOU believe me, too, Uncle Joe?”

Joe looked down at his troubled young nephew and smiled. “Benjy, when you told your grandpa and me that you had fallen asleep out under that circle of trees behind the barn, I believed you because you’ve never given me cause NOT to believe what you say.”

“Y-You mean . . . you just took my word for it . . . just like that?”

“Yes, Benjy, just like that,” Joe replied. “I’m a firm believer in giving a man . . . or woman, for that matter, the benefit of the doubt in the absence of evidence to the contrary.”

Benjy favored his uncle with a bewildered frown. “What does THAT mean?”

“It means I’m willing to believe what you say, Benjy,” Joe replied, “and as long as you continue to be honest with me, I’ll ALWAYS believe you.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes, really. Now we’d both best shake a leg,” Joe said. “Supper’s in two minutes now, and Hop Sing tends to get a wee bit upset if we’re not washed and seated at the table on time.”

 

The other members of the family, except for Dio and Theresa, were already seated at the table, when Joe and Benjy arrived. The former seated himself between Hoss and Stacy, while the latter squeezed in between his father and maternal grandmother.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Benjy?”

“Where’s Mother and Dio?”

“Dio’s upstairs sound asleep,” Adam replied, accepting the bowl of mashed potatoes from Hoss, seated on his left. “Your mother and I decided to just let her sleep.”

“Is Mother upstairs with Dio?”

Adam nodded. “In case she wakes up,” he said, as he dished out a large spoonful of potatoes on his plate. “Would you like some mashed potatoes, Son?”

“I guess,” Benjy murmured sullenly.

Adam held the large bowl in one hand and offered the serving spoon to his son with the other. Benjy took the serving spoon from his father and gingerly scraped it across the largely unbroken surface.

“Hey, Benjy, that ain’t enough t’ keep a newborn kitten alive let alone a growin’ boy,” Hoss remarked as his young nephew scraped half of what he had collected from the serving spoon onto his plate with his own fork.

“It’s ok, Uncle Hoss. I’m not very hungry,” Benjy said as he placed the serving spoon back into the bowl of mashed potatoes.

Adam passed the bowl on to his mother-in-law, then turned his attention back to his son. “Are you feeling alright, Buddy?”

“My stomach hurts a little, and I still feel kind of tired,” Benjy replied. “Other than that, I guess I’m ok.”

The anxious frown, already etched into Adam’s brow, deepened as he reached over and touched the back of his hand to his son’s forehead. “No fever,” he murmured quietly. “Benjy?”

“Yes, Papa?”

“You haven’t eaten very much since you’ve arrived here,” Adam said quietly. “It could be that your stomach hurts because you need to put some food in it.”

“I’m not very hungry, Papa.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Adam?” Ben replied, the anxious frown on his own brow nearly an exact mirror of the same on the face of his eldest son.

“Would you mind passing me that bowl of mashed potatoes again, and the bowls with vegetables and applesauce?”

Ben picked up the bowl of what remained of the mashed potatoes and handed it to Joe, seated at his right. Joe passed the mashed potatoes to his brother, Hoss, who in turn handed it back to Adam. In the meantime, Stacy and Dolores picked up the bowls of vegetables and applesauce respectively and passed those on to Adam.

“Thank you,” Adam said gratefully. He scooped out another spoonful of mashed potatoes on Benjy’s plate, then reached for the vegetables.

“Papa, I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“I know,” Adam replied in a quiet, yet firm tone. “But, you still need to eat. Uncle Hoss was absolutely right in observing that you’re a growing boy.”

“But, my stomach hurts.”

“You aren’t running a fever,” Adam said as he served up half a spoonful of vegetables and a generous spoonful of applesauce. “I think part of the reason your stomach hurts is that you aren’t eating enough. The food I’m giving you is bland and should be easy enough to digest. Stacy?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“Would you mind running out to the kitchen and asking Hop Sing to make up some of his peppermint tea for Benjy?”

“Not at all, Oldest Brother,” Stacy said rising.

“Stacy, I think you’d better look for him upstairs in Dio’s room,” Joe said. “I thought I just saw him go up with a tray in hand . . . probably for Teresa.”

“Thanks, Grandpa.”

Suddenly, a loud crash came from the kitchen, sounding as if every last breakable object out there had been hurled to the floor all at once. Stacy set off toward the kitchen at a dead run.

“Joe . . . . ”

“I’m right behind her, Pa,” Joe declared, as he pushed back his chair and jumped to his own feet all in the same, quick move.

A long string of terse, clipped Chinese syllables, shouted at top volume could also be heard by everyone still seated at the table, long before Hop Sing actually appeared at the top of the stairs, his face ominously dark as the thunderclouds accompanying the most dangerous and violent summer storms. Hop Sing’s angry invectives were in turn swallowed up in the deafening roar of metal pots, pans, lids, bowls and utensils, along with the large cast iron frying pan, all raining down on the stone floor of the kitchen.

At that juncture Ben shot right out of his seat with enough force and momentum to send his chair tumbling over on its back.

Benjy yelped fearfully as his grandfather’s wood chair clattered loudly against the hard wood dining room floor.

“I’d better go see what’s going on out in the kitchen,” Ben muttered angrily under his breath.

“You want me t’ come along, too, Pa?” Hoss asked, his own features melting into an indignant, angry scowl.

“No,” Ben tersely shook his head. “You and Adam had best stay here . . . just in case.”

Hoss nodded curtly.

As Ben headed out toward the kitchen, Adam placed his napkin beside his plate and rose.

“P-Papa?” Benjy queried fearfully. “Papa, where are you going?”

“Upstairs, to make sure your mother and sister are alright,” Adam replied. “You stay here with your grandmother and Uncle Hoss. I’ll be right back.”

Benjy stared after his father’s retreating back for a moment, completely and utterly crestfallen. Finally, he turned away with an exasperated sigh, and focused his gaze on the dinner plate resting on the table in front of him. “It’s not fair,” he grumbled softly, under his breath. “It’s not fair.”

Ben, meanwhile, burst into the kitchen with heart thudding wildly against his rib cage. “HOP SING, WHAT IN THUN— ” he stopped abruptly, mid-syllable as the reality of the situation slammed into him with all the brutal force of a hard sucker punch to the solar plexus.

“M-Mister Cartwright?” Hop Sing queried, peering anxiously into the stricken face of his employer and old friend.

“I . . . I don’t believe this . . . . ” Ben stammered, upon finding his voice.

Nothing in the kitchen was the least bit out of place. All of the glassware, the everyday earthenware dishes, the fine china that had once belonged to Elizabeth and Inger, was intact, safely stored away in their proper cabinets. The cast iron frying pan hung in its place on the wall next to the stove, and the cooking utensils all hung from their racks above the counter.

“I don’t understand this,” Ben muttered, shaking his head. “A minute ago, it sounded as if all hell was breaking loose in here.”

“Maybe noise come from outside,” Hop Sing suggested. “Little Joe, Miss Stacy go out, look around.”

Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m going to go see if they’ve found anything,” he said a moment later, in as steady a voice as he could muster. He turned and started toward the back door. A moment later, he stopped abruptly and turned. “Hop Sing?”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“Maybe you’d better close that window. It feels a mite chilly in here.”

“Mister Cartwright, no window open. All close tight.”

 

“GRANDPA, I DIDN’T DO IT!” Stacy declared emphatically, the outrage in her tone loud and clear.

“THEN YOU TELL ME WHO DID!” Joe snapped back, without missing a beat, equally outraged and angry.

The exchange of angry words between his two younger children assailed Ben’s ears the instant he stepped through the back door from the kitchen into the lush, verdant herb and vegetable garden Hop Sing maintained. He rolled his eyes sardonically heavenward, begging for strength, before setting off, following the sounds of Joe and Stacy’s voices.

“HOW SHOULD I KNOW WHO PUSHED YOU IN?!” Stacy demanded. “I WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GARDEN LOOKING IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION!”

“I WAS PUSHED! I WAS DEFINITELY PUSHED!” Joe obstinately maintained his ground. “EXPLAIN THAT ONE AWAY . . . IF YOU CAN!”

“EASY! YOU WEREN’T PUSHED! YOU PROBABLY TRIPPED OVER YOUR OWN BIG FEET!” Stacy immediately returned.

Ben found his youngest son and only daughter facing off at the far end of the garden in front of the rain barrel. Joe, dripping wet, stood glaring at his young sister with arms folded tightly across his chest. Stacy, with hands firmly planted on hips, returned her brother’s glare, with an equally ferocious one of her own.

“YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?”

“WHY NOT?! YOU’VE BEEN CALLING ME ONE!”

Ben sighed, then pursed his thinned lips together and let out a loud shrill whistle whose decibel easily cut through the rising volume of Joe and Stacy’s angry voices. The pair of them started and turned.

“All right . . . what’s going on between you two?” Ben demanded in that long-suffering tone he most often used upon reaching the final edge of patience.

“Ask HER!” Joe snapped back in a sullen tone, directing a murderous glare at his sister. “SHE started it.”

“I did NOT!” Stacy countered, her ire rising.

“Oh yes you did!”

“Oh no I DIDN’T!”

“Joseph Francis . . . Stacy Rose . . . . ”

Their father’s use of full first coupled with middle names immediately caught and held their attention.

“ . . . I don’t care WHO started it, I’M FINISHING it!” Ben declared, with his own arms folded across his chest. He directed a threatening glare at both of them that promised a whole world of trouble if they did not immediately cease and desist.

“Yes, Sir,” both mumbled in near unison.

“That’s better,” Ben said curtly. “Now what happened?”

“Someone PUSHED me into that rain barrel, Pa,” Joe replied through clenched teeth. “I was over next to it, looking around for something . . . anything that might have made those crashing sounds we heard at the table. I heard someone laugh, then I felt two hands on my back. The next thing I knew I was taking a bath in the rain barrel.”

“Pa, that someone who pushed Joe into the rain barrel WASN’T me!” Stacy stoutly, angrily maintained her innocence. “I was over on the other side of the garden getting ready to climb over the wall.”

“Oh?” Ben queried, favoring his daughter with a puzzled glare.

“When Joe and I came out here, I . . . well, I thought I caught sight of someone out of the corner of my eye,” Stacy explained. “A boy. I didn’t get a real good look at him, but I DID see that he had brown, curly hair . . . kinda like Joe’s. I thought I saw him run that way . . . . ” she pointed, “but, when I turned all the way around? He was GONE! I figured he’d gone over the garden wall.”

“Stacy, why didn’t you tell me?” Joe demanded with a touch of exasperation.

“Because YOU were too busy of accusing me of pushing you into that rain barrel,” she snapped.

Her words, her explanation immediately took all the angry wind out of Joe’s sails. “Sorry, Stace,” he murmured contritely.

She sighed. “I’m sorry, too, Joe.”

“Good! I’m glad THAT’S settled!” Ben declared with an emphatic nod of his head. He then turned his attention to his daughter. “Now about this boy, Stacy . . . . ”

“What about him, Pa?”

“You said he had brown, curly hair . . . like your brother’s.”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“That’s the description Benjy gave me of his friend earlier this afternoon,” Ben mused thoughtfully. “Have YOU met this boy?”

Stacy shook head.

“Well, we’d better get back to the table, before Hop Sing and your brothers decide to organize a posse,” Ben sighed.

 

Mother Catherine Margarita Gibson, reverend mother of the nursing order assigned to Saint Mary in the Mountains Catholic Church and Saint Brigid Hospital, was rudely awakened from a deep and sound sleep by a loud cry, filled with an anguish that shattered her kind heart into a thousand million pieces. The eerie, disquieting silence that immediately followed was broken within less than the passage of time between one heartbeat and the next by the explosive pounding of fist against the wood of the fast closed door to her cell.

“One moment . . . . ” Mother Catherine gasped, as she frantically worked to gather her wits about her. She threw aside her bedclothes with a powerful sweeping motion of her well-muscled arm, and scrambled to her feet. “Wh-Who’s there?” she called out.

“Sister Frances, Mother,” came the response in a voice, calm and steady, that carried within it a note of urgency.

Mother Catherine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Come in, Sister Frances,” she invited, as she snatched up her robe from its customary place across the foot of her bed.

“Mother, Mrs. Smith, God love her, has taken a terrible turn for the worse,” Sister Frances reported in a brisk, no nonsense tone of voice, upon entering the room.

“Let’s go,” Mother Catherine said grimly. “You can tell me on the way.”

“When Sister Anne and I went to check on her after Vespers, we found her pacing back and forth like a . . . a . . . like a wild animal locked in a cage,” Sister Frances huffed and puffed through her dismal report. Being a small, diminutive young woman, she had to jog in order to keep pace with the tall, statuesque mother superior. “Sister . . . Sister Anne asked her . . . what was the matter, and . . . she said she had to . . . to . . . stop her son from . . . from doing something that would . . . endanger . . . his mortal soul.”

“Did you say her son, Sister Frances?” Mother Catherine inquired, without breaking stride. A cold lump had begun to form deep within the pit of her stomach.

“Y-Yes, Mother,” Sister Frances affirmed. “H-Her son.”

“You’re sure? She actually said her son?!”

“I’m sure. Mother?”

“Yes, Sister?”

“I d-didn’t know she had a son. I . . . was under the impression she . . . that she had no one.”

“She had THREE sons once . . . and three daughters,” Mother Catherine replied.

“What happened? Where are they now?”

“They died, Sister.”

“ALL of them?!” Sister Frances gasped, stunned to the very core of her being by this grim revelation.

“All of them,” Mother Catherine affirmed. “Father Rutherford told me that they died from some kind of food poisoning. Tomorrow--- no! It’s well after midnight! Mrs. Smith’s eldest son was the last of her six children to die . . . thirty years ago TODAY!”

On the heels of that devastating loss, the woman known to the sisters as Mrs. Lee Smith was brought to Saint Brigid’s Hospital, more dead than alive, by Ben Cartwright and the two men he had just hired as ranch hands: Micah Everett and Jean di Marigny [2]. Her physical wounds were serious, but not life threatening, because they were given prompt treatment. Within a matter of weeks, her body had almost completely recovered.

Her spirit and soul, however, were different matters entirely. During the course of that entire first year she had spent first in the hospital, then cloistered within the walls of the convent, she was consumed with anguish and guilt. Nearly every waking moment was spent in prayer, begging God to take her life. Mrs. Smith’s innate will to survive proved very strong, however, and had ultimately prevailed, despite her very best intentions to the contrary.

Impelled by her pragmatic nature and a work ethos, very strongly entrenched, Mrs. Smith began carving out her own niche among the community of sisters, until finally establishing herself as chief cook, bottle washer, housekeeper, hospital orderly, assistant nurse, and listening ear. Though she had no desire whatsoever to, in her words, “take the veil,” she was every bit as much a member of the community as the sisters and their mother superior. Even so, the loss of her family still haunted Mrs. Smith to this very day, and would continue to haunt her until she finally breathed her last. This was a given that Mother Catherine understood very well.

When Mother Catherine and Sister Frances had finally arrived at the door to Mrs. Smith’s cell within the convent, the former paused. “Sister Frances,” she said, taking great care to lower her voice, “you MAY speak of what I have just told you about Mrs. Smith with myself and Father Rutherford. No one else.”

“Y-Yes, Mother,” Sister Frances solemnly responded, taken aback by the stern scowl on the mother superior’s face and the grim, determined set of her mouth and jaw line.

“Mrs. Smith has found a measure of peace within our community . . . a peace for which she has labored very long and hard,” Mother Catherine explained. “If word of the circumstances that brought her to us were to go beyond the doors of our convent . . . that peace will be irrevocably lost. Do you understand, Sister?”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am,” Sister Frances replied, nodding her head vigorously. “I won’t say anything of what you have told me to any ONE apart from you and Father Rutherford. On that you have my solemn vow.”

Mother Catherine nodded, satisfied with the young sister’s answer. “All right . . . now that THAT’S understood, let’s go in.”

 

The sound of a child’s laughter roused Stacy Cartwright from the depths of sleep, drawing her reluctantly toward awareness. She opened one eye, then the other slowly, and eased herself from prone to sitting. All was silent, save for the steady ticking of the clock hanging on the wall next to her door, and the occasional whinnying of the horses still out in the corral. “Must’ve dreamed it,” she murmured as she snuggled back down under the warmth of her quilt, blanket, and sheets.

Stacy had no sooner closed her eyes, when she once again heard the child’s laughter, this time followed by the sound of running footsteps. She bolted upright and threw off the covers. Within less than a heartbeat, she was out of bed, stealthily making her way across her room to the door. She paused, with her hand on the doorknob, and listened. The laughter and running footsteps grew fainter. She opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hall.

“It’s . . . it’s f-freezing!” Stacy muttered, heartily regretting that she hadn’t grabbed her robe. Folding her arms tight across her chest, she glanced up just in time to see a child, a boy, with brown, curly hair, clad in a white luminous nightshirt, turn and start down the stairs. “HEY!” she yelled. “YOU COME BACK HERE!”

The boy paused at the steps, and turned. “I’LL BETCHA YOU CAN’T CATCH ME!” he taunted, then with a scornful laugh turned and fled down the stairs.

“We’ll see about THAT!” Stacy muttered under her breath, as she took off after the boy at a dead run. When she reached the top of the stairs, less than a second later, there was no sign of the boy whatsoever. “He couldn’t have gotten away THAT quickly . . . . ”

“Who’s that, Little Sister?” a sleepy voice demanded cantankerously.

Stacy gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin. “Joseph Francis Cartwright, don’t you know better than to sneak up behind someone in the middle of the— ”

“Hey! Simmer down, will ya?! Before you wake up everyone ELSE?”

Stacy took a deep breath. “It’s that kid.”

“WHAT kid?”

“The boy I saw out in the garden,” Stacy replied, her eyes moving all over the area of the great room visible from her vantage point. “He’s somehow gotten inside the house. I saw him just now, running down the hall, laughing.”

“Where’d he go?” Joe demanded, suddenly alert, every last vestige of sleep gone.

“I saw him run down stairs,” Stacy said grimly. “He couldn’t have gone far . . . . ”

“Let’s go!”

Joe and Stacy noiselessly ran down the stairs, one behind the other. They spent the next hour and a half diligently conducting a thorough search of the great room.

“Nothing,” Joe murmured wearily, punctuating his declaration with a big yawn.

“I don’t understand this,” Stacy said, gazing around the darkened room in complete bewilderment. “He couldn’t have gone into the kitchen. Hop Sing would have nailed him for sure. Could he have gone out through the front door?”

“No,” Joe shook his head. “I checked. It’s bolted . . . from the inside.” This was their father’s custom whenever the payroll money was in the house, even if it was always locked tight in the safe. “There’s no way that kid could have left by the front door and bolted it shut behind him . . . which begs the question of how he got inside in the first place.”

“I . . . . ” Stacy shrugged, and shook her head.

“You SURE you didn’t dream this, Little Sister?”

“Now I . . . I’m NOT so sure.”

“Come on, Stace,” Joe sighed, then yawned again, “no harm done. Let’s g’won back to bed.”

“Alright . . . . ”

Joe and Stacy climbed the steps in silence. “Brrr! It’s freezing!” the former remarked, shivering.

“It’s colder NOW, than it was when I chased that kid down the stairs,” Stacy declared, her teeth chattering.

Joe saw Stacy back to her room, then turned and started back up to hall toward his own. He paused for a moment at the door, with hand on doorknob, to cast a quick, furtive glance over his shoulder. All of a sudden, he felt the eerie sensation of eyes, hidden and unseen, watching him very closely.

 

The following morning, Ben was rudely jolted out of a sound sleep by an onslaught of Chinese words screamed at top volume. Had that tirade been translated into English, it would have almost certainly brought a bright crimson flush to the cheeks of even the most hardened men who had served aboard the Wanderer, under Captain Abel Stoddard in days gone by.

“NO BREAKFAST!” He heard Hop Sing yell, as he stumbled down the stairs, uncombed and unshaven, clad in nightshirt, robe, and slippers. “HOP SING QUIT!! GO TO SAN FRANCISCO! HELP NUMBER NINE COUSIN IN RESTAURANT!”

“Aww . . . dadburnit, Hop Sing . . . . ” That wheedling tone belonged to Hoss. “Now why don’t ya fix us all up a nice big breakfast, ‘n--- ”

“NO BREAKFAST!” Hop Sing rudely cut Hoss off, mid-sentence. “NO EGGS!”

“WHADDYA MEAN NO EGGS?!”

“NO . . . EGGS! EGGS ALL GONE!”

“DADBURNIT, HOP SING, IF Y’ DON’T QUIT SPEAKIN’ IN RIDDLES--- ”

“THERE! THERE, THERE, THERE, THERE! YOU LOOK!”

“Aww, for the luvva . . . . ” Ben growled, as he ran down what remained of the stairs, then beat a straight path toward the kitchen. The scowl on his face deepened with each step. Less than a moment later, he burst into the kitchen like a barrel of exploding nitroglycerin. “Would you two mind keeping your voices DOWN?!” he reprimanded his middle boy and number one cook. “Some of us ARE trying to sleep--- ”

“Mister Cartwright, YOU look!” Hop Sing angrily turned on Ben. “You look real good! See yourself what bad boy do!” He thrust an arm and pointing finger toward the floor right by his feet.

Ben’s eyes dropped down to the place at which Hop Sing pointed. The dried remains of three-dozen eggs littered the kitchen floor, yolk and white mixing with tiny shards of shell to form a dull, lacquer-like substance with all the tough durability of concrete.

“I KNEW it!”

Hoss yelped and jumped backward upon hearing his sister’s voice.

“There WAS someone in this house last night!” Stacy blithely rambled on, with a note of smug triumph in her voice. “I KNEW I wasn’t dreaming. Wait’ll I tell Grandpa!”

“Dadburn it, Little Sister, you just scared me outta ten years’ growth,” Hoss growled, as he struggled to regain a small measure of composure. He favored Stacy with a menacing glare.

“ . . . uhhh, sorry,” Stacy apologized.

“Y’ might try ‘n let a body know you’re comin’ instead o’ sneakin’ up on him like a prowlin’ cougar or bob cat,” Hoss continued.

Stacy drew herself up to the fullness of her height and planted a pair of tight fists on her hips. “Hoss . . . I SAID I was sorry,” she hotly defended herself.

“That’s ENOUGH outta the BOTH of ya!” Ben sternly admonished his middle son and only daughter.

“But, Pa . . . . ”

“Stacy Rose Cartwright, I SAID that’s enough!” Ben reiterated his position, with a dark thunderous glare aimed in Stacy’s direction for emphasis.

“ . . . uhhh . . . yes, Sir,” she murmured softly.

“Now then, Young Woman, why don’t we begin with YOU telling us exactly what you know about the bad boy responsible for making this mess,” Ben said.

“I DID NOT!” Benjy yelled at the top of his voice, before Stacy had a chance to answer.

“YOU DID SO!” Dio yelled back, every bit as angry.

“I DID NOT!”

“LIAR!”

“ . . . uhhh . . . Pa?” Hoss ventured. “Y’ want me t’ break it up?”

Ben adamantly shook his head. “I . . . think that’s a chore best left to their parents,” he replied . . . .

 

“YOU’RE THE LIAR!” Benjy accused. The dark scowl on his face, and his stance, with posture erect and arms folded defiantly across his chest, was reminiscent of his father at the same age and in the same mood.

“I AM NOT!” Dio returned belligerently.

“Y’ ARE SO . . . AND YOU’RE MEANER THAN A SNAKE, TOO!”

“WELL, YOU’RE A BIG ‘FRAIDY CAT CRY BABY SISSY, AND I HATE YOU, BENJY CARTWRIGHT! I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!”

“I HATE YOU, TOO, YOU . . . YOU LYING BITCH!”

“YOU’RE A LYING BITCH, TOO . . . . ” Dio yelled back. She had no idea what that word actually meant. She only knew it was a bad one, that its utterance got her best friend’s mouth washed out with soap by their irate school teacher early on during the school year. “I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!”

“BENJY . . . DIO . . . . THAT WILL BE ENOUGH!” Adam roared, as he bolted into the hallway, belting his navy blue robe as he ran. Teresa followed closely at his heels.

“HE started it!” Dio charged.

“I DID NOT!”

“YOU DID SO!”

“NO, I DIDN’T, YOU--- ”

“BENJAMIN EDUARDO . . . DELORES ELIZABETH, I SAID THAT’S ENOUGH!” Adam roared, glaring at his son first, then over at his daughter.

The two children lapsed into an angry, sullen silence.

“I want the two of you to go to your rooms right now and stay there until your mother and I call you,” Adam continued.

“BUT, PA-AAAA-AAAHHH . . . HE STARTED IT!” Dio wailed.

“I DID NOT!” Benjy returned.

“I DON’T CARE WHO STARTED IT . . . I’M PUTTING AN END TO IT!” Adam yelled. “NOW GO TO YOUR ROOMS.”

The children turned and stomped their way back to their rooms, without sparing each other, or their parents so much as a backward glance.

Adam closed his eyes and slowly . . . very slowly . . . counted to ten. Three times. Twice in English and once in Spanish.

“What in the world is going on with those two?!” Teresa demanded, bewildered, deeply concerned, and thoroughly exasperated. “Sure, they fight occasionally . . . all brothers and sisters do! But, not like this!”

“I don’t know, Teresa, but one way or another, we WILL get to the bottom of all this,” Adam grimly vowed, “but not now. The kids need time to cool off, and frankly . . . so do I.”

“ . . . uhhh, Adam? Teresa?” Ben ventured, hesitant, mentally bracing himself.

Adam reluctantly turned and found himself staring into the anxious faces of his father, his younger bigger brother, his sister, and Hop Sing. “Hoo boy! I’m sorry the kids woke you,” he murmured contritely.

“It wasn’t Benjy ‘n Dio who woke ME,” Hoss said, directing an angry glare over at Hop Sing.

“Bad boy!” Hop Sing said, his face darkening once again with anger. “Last night, bad boy come in. Take eggs Hop Sing get from chicken. Smash all over kitchen floor. Big mess. Hop Sing had plenty enough. Hop Sing QUIT!”

“Hop Sing, are you saying that Benjy---?!”

“No, Mister Adam!” Hop Sing shook his head. “Bad boy NOT Mister Adam’s little boy. Bad boy OTHER Benjy.”

 

Benjy Cartwright noiselessly eased the door to his room closed, then turned his attention to the boy, with light brown, curly hair, clad only in a pair of well-worn overalls, who stood on the center of the room. “Benjy . . . you didn’t--- ”

“They’re liars,” the other Benjy said, “all of ‘em! They’re nothin’ but dirty, rotten, stinkin’ liars . . . just like your sister.”

“No, they’re not,” Benjy stoutly defended his family. “My mother and father--- ”

“If you’re about to tell me your ma ‘n pa are as honest as the day’s long . . . save your breath,” the other boy snorted derisively.

“They ARE,” Benjy stubbornly maintained his ground.

“No, they ain’t.”

“They are so!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, how about all the times they’ve told you they love ya every bit as much as they love your sister?” the other boy sneered.

That gave Benjy Cartwright pause.

“You KNOW they love HER best, don’tcha?”

Benjy slowly, reluctantly nodded his head.

“Then ya gotta know when they say they love YOU every bit as much . . . it just plain ‘n simple ain’t true,” the other boy continued, “and if what they say ain’t true, then they’re liars. Simple as that.”

“I . . . I never thought of it like that,” Benjy murmured softly. Never in his entire life had he ever felt so terribly alone.

“Your grandmother’s as bad as your ma and pa,” the other boy continued. A bare hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “She might get mad at your sister sometimes, but a few minutes later, it’s all forgive and forget. You saw . . . . ”

“Yeah . . . I’ve seen alright . . . lot’s of times,” Benjy grumbled, his face darkening with anger.

“Benjy?”

“What!?” Benjy snapped, grief stricken and angry.

“You CAN make ‘em sorry, if you want to,” the other Benjy said. “You can make ‘em REAL sorry.”

“How?” Benjy demanded, eager and impatient . . . .

 

Hop Sing, meanwhile, fixed a hearty breakfast of fried ham and potatoes, toast, fruit, coffee, and milk for the two children. Benjy occupied the chair at the foot of the table, flanked on either side by his father and his maternal grandmother. Dio sat between her between her parents. The two children ate the food placed before them in silence, with heads bowed, and eyes glued to their plates. Stacy, seated directly across the table from her niece, flanked by Joe on one side and Dolores on the other, had just finished recounting the events that had transpired the night before.

“ . . . and you took it upon yourself to go after this boy?” Ben demanded.

“I was with her, Pa,” Joe immediately spoke up.

“Did she come and wake you?”

“Yeah,” Joe replied without hesitation.

“I woke Joe up last night, but, ummm . . . not the way you’re asking, Pa,” Stacy ruefully admitted.

“I see,” Ben said curtly. “Stacy, if I’ve told you once, I’m sure I’ve told you a million times . . . you are NOT to investigate strange noises you hear in the middle of the night BY YOURSELF.”

“I’m sorry, Pa . . . . ”

“I’ve got a real good mind to march you right out to the barn and make you REAL sorry,” Ben continued, fearful and angry. “What if that boy you saw in the hallway last night had turned out to be an armed intruder?”

“He wasn’t, Pa,” Stacy replied. “He was a boy . . . a little younger than me . . . with curly hair like Joe . . . wearing a nightshirt.”

“Her running around, screaming woke ME up, Pa.” Joe’s tone of voice was properly deferential, but it was clear to one and all that he was taking up for his young sister. “Like she said . . . we searched downstairs pretty thoroughly and couldn’t find hide nor hair of anyone.”

“Did the two of ya search the kitchen?” Ben demanded, glaring at his daughter first, then over at his youngest son.

“ . . . uhhh . . . no . . . . ” Stacy sheepishly replied.

“You know how light a sleeper Hop Sing is,” Joe quickly added. “We figured if anyone HAD gone back in the kitchen . . . Hop Sing would’ve nailed him.”

“Maybe you two should’ve searched the kitchen, Brother,” Adam said, while buttering his second piece of toast. “If you had, Hop Sing wouldn’t be in such a snit right now about all those broken eggs.”

“For cryin’ out loud, Adam,” Joe snapped, favoring his oldest brother with a murderous glare. “The front door was closed, with the deadbolt in place. Now you tell me how in the he--- ”

“Joseph!” Ben snapped, cutting his son off before he could finish that thought.

“Sorry,” Joe muttered through clenched teeth. “The front door was closed. The deadbolt was in place. Stacy and I found no sign whatsoever of forced entry. We honest and truly thought she had dreamed the whole thing.”

“It’s clear she didn’t,” Ben said sternly. He, then, turned his attention to his grandson. “Benjy, about this new friend of yours--- ”

“He didn’t do it, Grandpa!” Benjy fiercely took up for his new friend. “Honest! He DIDN’T! If Aunt Stacy DIDN’T dream the whole thing . . . then some OTHER kid messed up Hop Sing’s kitchen.”

“Benjy, you will NOT take that tone with your grandfather,” Adam sternly admonished his son.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” the boy apologized in a sullen tone of voice. “But my friend didn’t do it . . . and he didn’t scare the horses in the barn either.”

“Oh yes, he did!” Dio angrily countered. “So did YOU!”

“I did NOT!” Benjy hotly defended himself.

“Benjy . . . Dio . . . if you don’t cease and desist--- ” Adam began.

“NO!” Benjy cried, leaping from his chair with force sufficient to send it clattering to the floor. “SHE’S LYING!” he accused at the top of his voice, thrusting his arm and pointing finger at Dio. “SHE’S LYING! I WASN’T ANYWHERE NEAR THAT BARN YESTERDAY! I’LL JUST BET SHE FAKED THE WHOLE THING TO GET ME INTO TROUBLE!”

Dio gasped, astonished, outranged, and highly indignant. “YOU WERE SO IN THE BARN YESTERDAY, YOU AND THAT OTHER MEAN LITTLE BOY!” she accused. “I HEARD YOU!”

“YOU’RE A LIAR, DIO! A DIRTY, ROTTEN, STINKIN’ LIAR, AND I HATE YOU!” With that, Benjy turned, and with a strangled sob, fled to the upper environs and the safety of his room.

“Dio, have you finished your breakfast?” Teresa asked her daughter.

“Yes, Ma’am . . . . ” the girl responded warily, taking due note of the ferocious scowl on her mother’s face.

“Then you g’won upstairs to your room, too,” Teresa ordered.

“But, Ma . . . I didn’t do anything!” Dio immediately protested.

“You heard your mother,” Adam said sternly.

An exasperated sigh exploded from between the girl’s pursed lips, as she rose and threw her napkin down on the table. “It’s not fair,” she groused, as she stomped her way from the dining room to the stairs. “It’s not fair . . . it’s not fair . . . it’s not fair!”

“Ben,” Teresa said ruefully, as she turned her full attention to her father-in-law, still seated in his place at the head of the table, “I’m sorry . . . I don’t know what’s gotten into those two . . . they aren’t USUALLY like that . . . . ”

“I know,” Ben hastened to reassure.

“Given the way Benjy feels about horses right now, perhaps a trip out to the proverbial WOODSHED’S in order,” Teresa said grimly, “for the both of ‘em.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Adam said. “I’d thought their tempers might cool when I sent them to their rooms earlier, but that hasn’t happened. If anything, their initial anger’s increased.”

“It won’t do one speck of good, Adam,” Dolores spoke for the first time since the family had sat down to breakfast. Her grim, morose tone of voice drew the attention of everyone still seated around the dining room table. “There’s an evil spirit in this house.”

“There’s a . . . a . . . what?!” Ben demanded, alternating between shocked disbelief and an insane urge to simply throw back his head and laugh out loud.

“Oh for--- ” Teresa grumbled, while sarcastically rolling her eyes heavenward. “Mother, for goodness sake! This is the nineteenth century not the dark ages . . . . ”

“Be that as it may,” Dolores said stiffly, “there IS an evil spirit in this house. I felt it the minute I walked through that door, though at the time I didn’t recognize it for what it was . . . . ”

“Nonsense!” Teresa snapped, directing an angry, baleful glare in her mother’s general direction. “Evil spirits indeed! Stuff and . . . and . . . superstitious nonsense!”

“All right, Young Lady . . . suppose YOU tell ME . . . . ” Dolores shot right back, addressing her daughter in the same condescending tone of voice she might use in addressing a very young child, “ . . . how a boy, or for that matter, how ANY human being, can get into this house with deadbolts thrown on the front and back doors . . . no broken windows . . . . ”

“This boy OBVIOUSLY snuck into the house BEFORE we locked up for the night, and hid someplace . . . a closet perhaps, or an empty bedroom,” Teresa replied in a tone of voice every bit as condescending as her mother’s. “After Stacy chased him down the stairs, he no doubt retreated to his hiding place and waited until he was sure we’d all gone back to sleep before making his mischief out in the kitchen.”

“I’M inclined to think Benjy’s come under the bad influence of a new friend,” Adam said very quietly, and very pointedly, “one who, for reasons unknown, seems bound and determined to drive a wedge between the boy and the rest of his family. I think the best for all concerned is to simply tell Benjy he’s not to associate with this boy, though I’d still like to find out who his parents are. They need to know what their son’s been up to over the last couple of days.”

“I say we need to get a priest to come and bless this house,” Dolores declared with an emphatic nod of her head.

 

“Thank you for coming, Father,” Mother Catherine said, her voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and profound relief. She set aside the small ledger book, lying open before her, and rose. “I know you’ve been kept busy for the last couple of weeks.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Father Brendan said quietly. “I . . . heard she had a rough night?”

Mother Catherine nodded. “Very,” she replied with a touch of wryness. “She’s become quite obsessed with her oldest son over the last couple of days . . . . ”

“Doesn’t she always . . . around this time?” the priest queried gently.

“Not like this,” the mother superior replied, shaking her head. “In all the years she’s been with us . . . she has never been like this.”

“How is she now?”

“She slept all morning as you might imagine,” Mother Catherine replied. She turned and lowered the cover of the roll top desk, dominating her cubbyhole-sized office within the building housing Saint Brigid’s Hospital. “Did Brother Algernon tell you that she had almost reached the edge of town before he finally caught up with her?”

“No,” Father Brendan replied, shocked and astonished. Never, not even in the wildest of his dreams and imaginings given the woman’s fragility, would he have believed it possible for Lee Smith to make it all the way from her hospital room all the way to the edge of town.

Mother Catherine gestured for the priest to leave the office first. He nodded, and stepped into the narrow corridor beyond. The mother superior followed close behind, gently closing the door behind her. “She’s had a bit of lunch . . . toast and a small glass of milk. Her appetite has diminished considerably over the last month or so . . . . ”

Father Brendan nodded, as they turned and started down the hall.

“She’s resting comfortably enough, and . . . apart from her insistence that her oldest son is about to do . . . something . . . that will endanger his mortal soul . . . she seems very lucid,” the mother superior continued.

“Any thoughts on how she came by the notion of her oldest son endangering his immortal soul?” Father Brendan asked.

“None,” Mother Catherine replied with a helpless shrug. “I remember her going through this before . . . . ” she fell silent for a moment to do a bit of mental figuring, “ . . . twelve . . . maybe thirteen years ago.”

“That’s right . . . she did. I’d forgotten.”

“Same time as Ben Cartwright had some strange goings on in his home, as I recall,” Mother Catherine continued. “I remember my sister telling me some of the rumors that started to circulate around town shortly thereafter.” Her sister was the late Hazel Gibson, the schoolteacher who had graced the hallowed halls of learning at the Virginia City School just before Abigail Jones.

“I think most of those rumors might be more accurately classified as flights of fancy, Mother Catherine,” Father Brendan said with a wry smile.

“Most of those stories are long forgotten, thank the Good Lord,” Mother Catherine declared in a brisk, no nonsense tone of voice. “The change from boy to man is hard enough on any young lad, the Lord Above knows . . . and for Joe Cartwright, I dare say it was harder than most. The last thing he needed was having all of that fol-de-rol about ghosts, goblins, and things that go bump in the night clinging to him like glue.”

Many men would be shocked by Mother Catherine’s frank way of speaking, the priest silently mused, his smile broadening, particularly men of the cloth like himself. Over the years his association and friendship with the mother superior had endured, he had come to understand this was her way, with having grown up on a farm and gone into nursing as her vocation. “Young Joseph is made of the same sterner stuff as his father and brothers,” Father Brendan quietly observed. “He withered the storm with nary a whimper.”

“Thank the Lord for small mercies, and I dare say a very understanding father and older brothers,” Mother Catherine observed as they came to a stop before the closed door to the tiny room occupied by Lee Smith, the patient Father Brendan had come to see. She turned, and gently knocked on the door.

“Yes? Who is it?”

“Mother Superior, Sister Anne,” Mother Catherine identified herself. “I’m here with Father Brendan. Is Mrs. Smith . . . . ?”

“Yes, Mother,” Sister Anne replied. “Please come in.”

Mother Catherine opened the door and stepped inside, with the priest following close behind. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith,” she greeted the patient, a diminutive elderly woman with bright green eyes and white hair, the same bright purity of new fallen snow. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better, thank you,” Lee replied.

“Father Brendan has come in response to your request,” the mother superior continued.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith,” Father Brendan greeted the patient with a warm smile as he stepped out from behind the mother superior.

“Thank you so much for coming, Father,” Lee murmured, returning the priest’s smile and extending her hand.

“Father . . . Mrs. Smith . . . Sister Anne and I will leave you alone,” Mother Catherine said. “We’ll be right outside, if either of you need us.”

Father Brendan silently acknowledged the mother superior’s words with a nod, as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Smith?” he asked, after the nuns had left the room.

A wistful smile spread slowly across her lips. “I’m not long for this world, Father,” Lee said very quietly.

“You’ve suffered other attacks,” Father Brendan complacently pointed out. “The last was worse . . . far worse than this . . . yet you pulled through like a champ.”

“That’s one of the things I like most about you,” she said, her smile broadening. “You’re always looking on the bright side . . . always looking for that silver lining behind the dark thundercloud. Father . . . . ”

“Yes, Mrs. Smith?”

“I want you to know I have no fear of dying . . . nor do I have any regrets,” she said, her smile fading. “I’m grateful to the sisters . . . for all they’ve done for me . . . for embracing me as one of their own, though I’ve never desired to take the vows . . . for allowing me to make my own place among them . . . . ”

“ . . . and YOU’VE done so much . . . given so much . . . to them . . . to all of us in return,” Father Brendan said, with all sincerity, his voice filled with gratitude. “When your time DOES come, Mrs. Smith, it’s going to take three . . . maybe four of the sisters to do all the work YOU do . . . and that’s with Brother Algernon pitching in.”

“Thank you, Father. Your words . . . and your gratitude do my heart good.” She closed her eyes, and with a very soft sigh, leaned heavily into the down pillows stacked behind her head. Her breathing relaxed into a gentle, even pattern.

Father Brendan watched her for a time, then, figuring her to be asleep, eased the chair away from the bed, taking great care to be as quiet as he possibly could. He rose, with the intention of leaving her to her rest.

“Father?” she murmured softly; so softly, the priest almost missed hearing her words.

“Yes, Mrs. Smith?” he queried, as he returned to his seat.

“Do YOU believe in ghosts?” Lee asked. She lay unmoving under her bedclothes, with hands resting at her sides, and eyes still closed.

Father Brendan smiled. “Officially . . . no. Mother Church does not recognize the possibility of spirits remaining earthbound after the body dies,” he replied. “However . . . . ” his smile broadened, “I’ve certainly heard stories and experienced a thing or two personally that, ummm . . . might be best classified as unexplained . . . . ”

“You remember my oldest boy?”

“I do, indeed.”

“He’s still there, Father . . . . ”

Father Brendan frowned. “He’s still . . . where, Mrs. Smith?”

“Where our farm was,” she replied, her voice catching. “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes . . . . ” Father Brendan replied, the bewildered scowl on his face deepening.

“I’ve GOT to warn Ben.”

“Warn Ben?” Father Brendan echoed, feeling as if he had just stepped off the end of a pier into very deep water. “About . . . what, exactly?”

Her eyes softened and glazed over. A single tear slipped over her eyelid and ran down her cheek. “He . . . w-wasn’t a bad boy . . . . ”

“No,” Father Brendan agreed. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“I wish . . . oh, how I wish he’d had the chance to attend school,” Lee sighed, her voice filled with sadness and regret. “He was a smart boy, y’ know . . . bright as a brand new penny. He could’ve gone far with a half decent education, but . . . . ” She sighed again and dolefully shook her head, “my husband didn’t put much stock schools, ‘n learning . . . . ”

“Yes . . . I remember that, too,” Father Brendan said quietly. Her husband and his father were a couple of lazy, good for nothing drunkards. That was the way of it, pure and simple. Although he, personally, tried his best not to think or speak ill of the dead, or presumed dead, those were the kindest things he could think of to say about the husband and father-in-law of the woman known for the better part of the last three decades as Lee Smith. How a woman like her ever ended up leg-shackled to a man like that . . . it was ‘way beyond his poor ability to comprehend.

“He was a bundle of energy, that one . . . . ” Lee remembered.

“Your oldest boy?”

She nodded. “You know, I never once had to ask him to do the chores . . . chop kindling . . . look after the younger ones when I . . . when I had to fetch the doctor to see to their pa or . . . or go t’ town ‘n bail him out of jail. No, Sir . . . he just saw what had to be done and did it. Never complained . . . . ”

“I know he worried about YOU, Mrs. Smith . . . a lot,” Father Brendan said. “Seems he’s was always concerned about you working too hard.”

“I remember,” she said, smiling indulgently through the stream of tears now streaming down her cheeks. “He was a real worrywart, that’s for sure. Day he died . . . I wished . . . I wished with all my heart, with all my being, with everything I’ve got within me . . . that I could curl up ‘n die, too.” Her smile faded. “They were so young, Father . . . so young . . . wasn’t fair they should die like that, before they had a chance to live . . . to really experience life.”

“No,” Father Brendan agreed. “It happens all too often, but you’re right. It’s NOT fair.”

“He wanted so bad to live . . . and he fought. . . he fought so very hard, but he just . . . plain ‘n simply . . . didn’t have the strength,” she said sadly. She paused, just long enough to blot her wet cheeks against the sleeve of her nightgown. “I guess that’s why he stayed around.”

“I s’pose . . . . ” Father Brendan murmured softly, not quite knowing what else to say.

“Trouble is . . . hard as he wishes otherwise . . . he’s NOT alive,” Lee continued. “He can’t take part any more. All he can do is watch . . . and with no one to see or hear him . . . he’s lonely, Father . . . so terribly lonely. I can’t fault him none for wanting company, but he’s going about it wrong. I’ve gotta warn Ben . . . . ”

“Warn Ben about . . . WHAT, exactly?” Father Brendan asked, treading with great care. “That your son is still there? That he wants company?”

“I’m not crazy, Father,” Lee said, all of a sudden very much on the defensive.

She gazed up at him through eyes round and unblinking, reminding the priest of a frightened rabbit caught in a trap. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith. I didn’t mean to suggest--- ”

Lee seized hold of her blanket and threw it aside with a force and strength Father Brendan was astonished to see in an elderly woman so frail. “Yes, you do!” she rudely cut him off. “Can’t blame you none, I s’pose . . . once upon a time I would’ve thought an old woman like me nuttier ‘n great big pecan pie, too.” She sat up before the priest could even think to stop her. “Now what’d they do with my slippers?”

“Mrs. Smith, please . . . . ” Father Brendan begged, as he placed gentle, yet restraining hands on her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Let me GO, Father . . . please. I’ve gotta stop him, don’t you see? I’ve gotta stop him before . . . before he . . . . ”

“Stop WHO, Mrs. Smith?”

“MY BOY!” Lee wailed. “I’VE GOTTA STOP MY BOY BEFORE HE GOES TOO FAR AND ENDS UP LOSING HIS MORTAL SOUL!”

“Y-You . . . you CAN’T make the trip out to the Ponderosa,” Father Brendan desperately tried to reason with the woman, suddenly turned ferocious tigress, struggling mightily to free herself from his grip. “It’s . . . with your health . . . it’s . . . simply . . . out of the question. Perhaps I--- ”

“NO!” she snarled, her fear and desperation rising steadily toward hysteria. “HE WON’T LISTEN TO YOU! I JUST HOPE AND PRAY TO GOD HE’LL LISTEN TO ME.”

At that moment, the door to Lee Smith’s room flew open, with enough force and momentum to send it crashing into the wall perpendicular. Mother Catherine strode briskly into the room, moving with all the easy strength and power of clipper ship with the wind in her sails. Brother Algernon and two postulates followed close at her heels, with Sister Anne bringing up the rear, breathless, running as fast as he short legs could carry her.

“We’ll take over from here, Father,” Mother Catherine said briskly, all business.

 

Brother Algernon and one of the postulants, a big woman, well muscled, standing at near the same height as Father Brendan, moved in on either side of the distraught woman, each taking firm, yet gentle hold of an arm. The monk softly spoke words of reassurance and comfort as he and the postulant eased Lee back down onto the bed.

“Laudanum!” the mother superior snapped, as she turned and glared over as Sister Anne.

“Yes, Mother,” Anne murmured, still breathless. She turned heel and fled from the room, returning less than a moment later with bottle and spoon in hand.

“Shall I send someone to fetch Doctor Martin?” the priest asked.

“Yes, Father . . . by all means,” Mother Catherine replied . . . .

 

 __

The moon rose; every bit as full and as round as the tender, swollen udder of a cow, in desperate need of milking. Its color was the same hot white of molten iron, just taken from the forge. As it cleared the distant line of jagged mountain peaks, the hot white-blue summer sky quickly darkened to indigo, then black. The approach of night, however, brought no relief from the blistering heat of the day, quickly fading. If anything, the air grew hotter, more stultifying.

 _The exposed portions of his sweat-soaked body, his face, neck, and hands, gleamed with a dull luster by the dim light from an old lantern, hanging from the wall, suspended somewhere above his head. The rest of his body lay bundled under a mountain of sheets, blankets, two well worn quits, and a down comforter. His mouth fell open as the muscles of his chest labored valiantly against the pressing, burdensome weight of his pajamas and all those bedclothes, to expand allowing his lungs to draw breath, then expel it. He seized the top edge of the comforter in both hands and threw it off, followed by the quilts, and woolen blanket._

 _Two sheets drifted down on top of him, followed by another wool blanket, two more quilts, and the comforter._

 _He threw off the comforter, only to have two more and another quilt drop down on him. He opened his mouth wider and sucked in a breath of air. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Intense panic rose, fast and furious, from a place somewhere deep within. He drew in another deep, ragged breath, then another, and another in rapid succession, desperate to take in enough air to fill lungs, empty and hungry. He began to feel light headed and dizzy in short order._

 _“It’ll be ok, Benjy . . . . ”_

 _His lips and mouth labored frantically to speak, but no words issued forth._

 _“It WILL be ok. I promise you . . . it WILL. I know it hurts now . . . but it WILL be ok. I KNOW it will. Then, you’ll make ‘em all sorry.”_

 _Suddenly, inexplicably, he was afraid._

 _“ ‘Fraidy cat! ‘Fraidy cat! Benjy is a ‘fraidy cat!”_

 _It was his sister. Though he couldn’t see Dio, her childish, singsong chant filled the room, coming from everywhere all at once._

 _“Benjy is a ‘fraidy cat! Benjy is a ‘fraidy cat! Benjy is a ‘fraidy cat!”_

 _A feeble moan issued forth from dry throat and parched lips. Again he tried to speak, tried to tell his tormenter to shut-up and go away, can’t she see he was sick, for heaven’s sake?! But as before, no words came._

 _“ ‘Fraidy cat . . . ‘fraidy cat . . . Benjy is a ‘fraidy cat!” Her voice rose steadily in volume, growing louder and more shrill, as the moon, shining in through his window with the same blinding brilliance as the sun, rose higher in the dark night sky._

 _He raised his hands to his ears, pressing against the side of his head so hard, he half feared his skull would crack and shatter into a million pieces. Still his sister’s voice, and her childish laughter, so full of malice and hatred, rose to deafening volume._

 _He squeezed his eyes tight shut, and inhaled a deep lung full of air, hotter than fire, his chest and lungs protesting with searing agony . . . ._

 _. . . and screamed._

Benjy bolted upright in bed, screaming. For a moment, he remained, unmoving, his eyes darting frantically around the darkened room, trying desperately to remember where he was. The dark, near opaque shadows in the corners of the room began to swell and grow. He sat in the middle of his bed, his thin arms wrapped tight around his shivering body, watching with rapt, morbid fascination as thin tendrils of impenetrable coal blackness slowly snaked out from the corners of the room toward him. He tried to move . . . to run . . . to flee from this room and the horror reaching out to him, but his arms and legs remained frozen.

He began to wag his head slowly, back and forth. “ . . . nuh-nuh-nuh . . . nuh . . . NO!” he finally screamed, and in so doing freed himself of the mysterious paralysis that scant moments before had nearly overwhelmed him.

With a strangled cry, Benjy leapt from the bed and tore across the room toward the closed door. Both hands closed tightly on the white porcelain knob. He frantically turned this way and that, but the latch wouldn’t give.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he begged, as tears borne of fear and desperation began to blur his vision. “Come ON, please . . . please, please, please open!” He could feel the shadow at his back now . . . cold . . . so terribly cold . . . colder than anything he had ever felt in his entire life.

Then, suddenly, the latch gave. He flung the door wide open and ran down the hall, fast as his legs could carry him. The shadow boiled out of the room and flowed down the hall after him, swift, powerful, and relentless like a mighty river swollen with the melt of spring. Benjy half ran, half stumbled down the stairs, to the front door. After a terrifying, endless eternity of fumbling with deadbolt, and latch, he finally threw the door open with all his strength and plunged headlong into the night.

 

Upstairs, the sound of the front door striking the credenza, rudely jolted Adam and Teresa from a sound sleep.

“A-Adam, wha---?!”

“Someone’s downstairs,” Adam said softly. He sat up and threw aside sheet, blanket, and quilt in a single powerful, yet very fluid move.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go downstairs and have a look around,” he replied, remembering that his father still had the payroll money locked up in the safe behind his desk.

“I’m coming with you,” Teresa declared, as she, also scrambled out of bed.

“No.”

She frowned. “Adam . . . . ”

He silenced her protestations with a curt gesture. “Wake up Pa, Hoss, and Joe. Tell them someone’s broken into the house,” Adam ordered with a shudder, remembering the stern lecture Pa had given his sister earlier, outlining all the reasons why she shouldn’t investigate strange noises in the middle of the night by herself. “You’d better check on the kids, too . . . make sure THEY’RE all right.”

“All right,” she reluctantly agreed, “but you be careful. You hear me, Mister?”

“Loud and clear, Ma’am,” Adam replied, trying very hard not to smile.

“I mean it, Adam.” Though she spoke in a very firm, no-nonsense tone of voice, the uneasiness growing within her came through very clearly.

“I know you do,” Adam said, his voice softening, “and I promise you . . . I WILL be careful.” He slipped on his robe, and, acting purely on impulse, gave his wife a quick, chaste kiss on her lips. “YOU be careful, too.” With that, he slipped out of the room, silently closing the door behind him.

“Adam?! That you?”

Turning, he saw his brother, Hoss, barreling down the hall, armed with the poker kept next to the fireplace in his room. There was a ferocious scowl on his face, and his jaw was set with grim determination. “Yeah, Hoss . . . it’s me,” Adam responded to his brother’s question, taking great care to keep his voice low. “You heard . . . . ?”

“That . . . bangin’ sound?”

“Yeah.”

“Yep. I heard it alright,” Hoss said grimly. “Woke me right out of a real sweet dream, too. I WAS gonna just turn over ‘n g’won back t’ sleep, ‘til I all uva sudden remembered Pa’s got t’ payroll locked up downstairs.”

“I remembered that, too,” Adam replied.

The older Cartwright brothers started down the stairs, with Adam taking the lead, treading silently, “like the snow fall,” as Young Wolf had long ago taught them both. They had just passed the middle landing, when their ears were assailed by a long string of clipped Chinese invectives yelled at top volume. Hop Sing bounded into the room a moment later, clad in nightshirt, robe, and slippers, armed with a sharp meat cleaver.

“WHAT GO ON HERE?” Hop Sing yelled. “SOMEBODY ‘ROUND HERE GROW UP IN BARN?! WHO LEAVE OPEN FRONT DOOR?”

“We dunno, Hop Sing,” Hoss said grimly, as he and Adam stepped down onto the first floor, “but we sure aim t’ find out.”

Hop Sing screamed and jumped backward, crashing into the credenza, upon hearing the sound of Hoss’ voice. “WHAT YOU DO?!” the Chinese man angrily demanded. “SCARE TEN YEAR GROWING OUTTA HOP SING?!”

“S-Sorry,” Hoss murmured softly, with a wary glance at the meat cleaver and Hop Sing’s white knuckled grip on its handle.

“Adam!” It was Teresa.

Adam turned and saw her standing at the top landing.

“Benjy’s NOT in his room,” she said, speaking as loud as she dared, her voice filled with urgency.

“We’ll find him,” Adam promised. “You stay there.”

“Adam, he’s MY son, too,” she said in a cold tone of voice that sent ice cold shivers down the spines of the three men gathered beside the still open front door. She quickly drew the edges of her robe together, and tied the sash, hanging loose in its belt loops, before starting down the stairs.

“Teresa, NO!” Hoss cried out, watching his determined sister-in-law bounding down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. “WE’LL find him . . . Adam, Hop Sing, ‘n me. Dadburnit, we could be surrounded by a whole gang o’ outlaws, armed t’ the teeth.”

“ . . . and if that whole gang of outlaws have so much as harmed a single hair on Benjy’s head, so help me . . . I’ll skin every last one of them alive and nail their sorry hides to the barn wall,” Teresa angrily vowed.

“Dang, Adam . . . SHE’S every bit as bad as PA!” Hoss muttered, as he grabbed his gun belt from its place on the credenza, making sure he kept a respectful distance between himself and his sister-in-law.

“Mister Ben father AND mother, too, like Mrs. Teresa mother,” Hop Sing sagely observed, keeping himself well out of Teresa’s reach as well.

Adam sprinted across the room to his father’s desk and pulled open the top right hand drawer. There, much to his great relief, he found the revolver his father kept there in case of an emergency. “Hop Sing . . . Teresa . . . you two double back through the kitchen,” he ordered, while Hoss quickly strapped on his own gun belt. “Hoss and I’ll circle around outside. We’ll meet out on the back porch.”

 

As Dolores di Cordova reached for the quilt, lying across the foot of her bed, neatly folded, she caught movement at the very edge of her peripheral vision and immediately froze. For a long moment she sat, unmoving, with the quilt pressed up hard against her chest, her eyes darting furtively about the darkened room.

“Who . . . who’s there?” she finally ventured, hesitantly, with fear and trembling.

There was no answer.

Fully awake now, Dolores peered into the surrounding darkness, again frantically searching. Her heart pounded within her chest, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end . . . this time, not entirely due to the cold.

Someone was in the room . . . watching her. She could feel it.

 

A woman’s terrified scream shattered the silence of the pre-dawn hours, and rudely awakened Stacy from a deep sleep. “Tha’ soun’s like Miz di Cordova,” she muttered, while struggling mightily to sit up.

Somewhere in the dark, the woman screamed again, this time driving every last vestige of sleep from Stacy’s weary brain. With face set with grim, stubborn determination, she threw off her covers and grabbed hold of the cane leaning up against the wall beside her bed. It was hewn from a solid piece of mahogany, with a brass horse head affixed to the top. Pa had loaned it to her a few months ago, when a tumble from a gelding she and Hoss had been training left her with a badly sprained ankle.

She noiselessly passed from her bedroom to the hall, and started for the stairs, pausing before she had so much as taken a dozen steps as memory of that blistering lecture from Pa earlier returned with brutal intensity. She immediately turned and started back down the hall toward Hoss’ room.

“Hey, Kiddo . . . where do you think YOU’RE going?”

Upon hearing Joe’s voice, Stacy gasped, and jumped backward. “Dadburnit, Grandpa, you sure gotta way of scaring a body half to death,” she growled, her heart still pounding.

“Sorry,” Joe apologized. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t running downstairs to check out . . . whatever that was . . . all by your lonesome.”

“Unh UNNNNHHH . . . not after that go ‘round with Pa this morning,” she said soberly. “I was on my way to wake up Hoss.”

Joe nodded. “You g’won, then,” he said, “and roust Big Brother up outta bed. While you do that I’LL go ‘n wake up . . . . ”

 

 __

“PA-AAAA-AAAA . . . .” Joe screamed as the narrow outcropping of rock, known as Eagle’s Nest, broke off from the mountain and plummeted toward earth, taking him and the rifle, for which he had gone again and again and again, along with it. He had come so close . . . so very close . . . he could have actually reached out and touched it. All Ben could do was cling to the side of the mountain, where he had “fallen” just a few moments before, and watch his youngest son fall to the horrifying death that had haunted his dreams every night since he had lost the rifle . . . .

 _. . . and scream._

 _Pa?!_

Pa . . . .

“Pa! Wake up!”

“Wha’ th---?!” Ben gasped, as his eyes suddenly snapped wide open. One minute, he was clinging for dear life to the side of the mountain, from which the rocky promontory, known as Eagle’s Nest, had broken . . . and the next, he was lying . . . here . . . where ever here was . . . in the dark. He tried to move, but found, much to his horror, that his body refused to respond. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flurry of movement . . . .

“Wh-Who’s . . . who’s there?”

“It’s me, Pa,” Joe replied, anxiously taking note of his father’s rapid, shallow breathing and the dull gleam of sweat upon his brow.

“Joe?!” Ben queried, as his eyes moved toward the direction from whence his son’s voice came. He peered intently into the darkness, through eyes round and unblinking, desperately seeking his youngest boy’s face . . . .

 __

“Don’t LEAVE me, Ben . . . please . . . .”

 _The face that emerged from the opaque shroud of darkness, covering the entire room wasn’t Joe’s . . . ._

 _It was Marie’s._

 _“Please . . . . ” she sobbed, reaching out her arms, with the palms of her hands turned upward. “Ben . . . My Love, My Darling . . . please?! Please . . . don’t LEAVE me . . . . ”_

 _It was the same dream he’d had night after night after night, for . . . it was a very long time, nearly a whole year after Marie had taken that fatal tumble from her horse . . . ._

 _. . . and with the dream’s sudden, inexplicable return, came all of the grief, the rage, the guilt, and that bottomless abyss of hopeless mind-numbing despair . . . as raw, as fresh, and every bit as intense as they had been the moment he saw her, lying sprawled on the ground, her neck clearly, without the slightest shred of doubt, broken . . . ._

 _“I . . . I know the truth, Sir . . . . ”_

 _He slowly lifted his head and found himself staring into the face of his son . . . THEIR son . . . his and Marie’s . . . so like his mother . . . so very like his mother in looks and in temperament, it sometimes broke his heart._

 _“I . . . I know the truth, Sir.”_

 _This face was the face of a boy, who had just taken those first steps across the threshold toward manhood. It retained the cherubic roundness of the child, yet carried within its lines, and its planes, a subtle trace of the handsome young man who would all too soon emerge._

 _“I . . . I know the truth, Sir. About y-you and . . . and about m-my mother!”_

 _The child-man stared up into his face through eyes, round and staring, gleaming with the liquid brightness of tears not yet shed, filled with the same hopeless grief and despair that had nearly devoured him when the life of his wife, the mother of the young man now standing before him, was so tragically, so brutally cut short. The boy’s eyelids, his upper lip, and his cheeks were an angry shade of red, and swollen after having spent many hours weeping secretly . . . alone._

 _He once again stood facing the boy up in the hayloft of a barn burning down around them. Now, as then, he pulled the troubled, angry, grief stricken boy into his arms, without pause or hesitation, and held him tight._

 _“M-Mister Cartwright, please! S-save yourself!” the boy sobbed heart wrenchingly._

 _“Wh-Why do you keep calling me Mister Cartwright?” he demanded, bewildered and hurt, yet seeking desperately to understand. The flames consuming the barn around them leapt higher and burned brighter, as if fueled, not by wood, hay, and straw, but by the boy’s escalating distress._

 _“DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?” the boy screamed, as tears, borne of his fear, anger, and grief flowed like rivers down his cheeks. “I KNOW! I KNOW THE TRUTH! I KNOW . . . YOU’RE NOT MY FATHER . . . YOU’RE NOT MY F-F-FATHER . . . . ”_

 _He sensed the presence of another in the hayloft with him and the son he held on to so fiercely . . . another just as determined to take the boy as he was to keep him. The smoke, rising from below, eddied and pooled under that portion of roof covering the hayloft. Yet even as the smoke and the acrid tears now stinging his own eyes began to slowly rob him of his sight, he saw the other beginning to take form. As its core began to solidify, he saw tendrils of smoke growing, reaching out, as wild grape vines reach out, searching . . . groping for something . . . anything . . . to grab and . . . .. . . and to strangle._

 _In the next instant, revelation came._

 _“Joe, I want you to listen to me!” he begged, holding the boy a little apart from him so that he might look directly into his face and eyes. “You ARE my son,” he declared earnestly, ”I AM your father. You belong HERE with your brothers and me.”_

 __

The boy stared up into his face with a blank look, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

 _“Say it, Joe. You’ve got to say it!”_

 _“I . . . I c-can’t . . . . ”_

“ . . . say id, Joe . . . y’ godda say id . . . . ” Ben softly, yet earnestly, pleaded. “ ‘S the truth, Boy . . . y’ godda say id . . . . ”

“Dear God . . . Pa! Wake UP!” Joe begged, with heart in mouth. He placed his hands on Ben’s shoulders and began to shake him gently. “Please, Pa . . . please . . . you’ve gotta wake up--- ”

“JOE!” Ben cried out, as his eyes suddenly snapped wide open.

“I’m here, Pa,” Joe tried to reassure in a low, soothing tone. “I’m right here.”

“Thank God!” Ben exclaimed softly, as he threw aside his bedclothes, and bolted from lying down to sitting up. “Thank G-God . . . . ”

“It’s all right, Pa,” Joe continued, “everything’s all right. You were dreaming.”

“ . . . d-dreaming?!” Ben echoed, bewildered and uncertain. He reached out with trembling hand and gently touched Joe’s cheek to assure himself that his youngest son really and truly sat here . . . on the side of his bed, in the darkness before him, safe and sound . . . alive, whole, and in one piece. “Dreaming,” he murmured again, in a steadier voice, as wave upon wave of blessed relief rolled over him, one after the other.

“Pa?! Grandpa?”

“Stacy?” Joe queried, turning his face toward the door of his father’s bedroom, standing wide open. His sister stood at the threshold, clad in nightshirt, robe, and slippers, still clutching Pa’s horse head cane in her right hand.

“ . . . is, ummm . . . everything ok?” she ventured hesitantly.

“It WILL be,” Joe promised. “You can come on in, if you want . . . . ”

“You sure . . . . ?!” she queried, casting an apprehensive glance at their father. “Is Pa, uhhh . . . . ?!”

“I’m decent, Stacy . . . and I’m gonna be all right,” Ben said. “I just need a moment to wake up fully ‘s all.”

“Bad dream, Pa?” Stacy asked, as she stepped across the threshold from the hall into her father’s bedroom.

Ben nodded, grateful beyond measure that the vivid scenarios he had just lived through again, WERE only dreams. “I’m sorry I woke YOU up, too.”

“YOU didn’t,” Stacy replied as she circled around to the other side of the bed, and sat down directly across from Joe. “It was Mrs. di Cordova, I think. I heard her scream.”

“Where’s Hoss?” Joe asked.

“He wasn’t in his room,” Stacy replied.

 

Meanwhile, Hop Sing and Teresa froze in their tracks when Dolores’ terrified scream rent the night, rudely waking Hop Sing’s chickens out of a deep slumber.

“Mother!” Teresa exclaimed, raising her voice that she might be heard about the chickens’ frantic squawking. “Hop Sing . . . THAT was mother.” She stood, wringing her hands, visibly torn between finding her son and seeing to her mother.

“You wait! In kitchen! You wait ‘til Mister Adam, Mister Hoss come. Hop Sing go, see Mrs. Teresa’s mama.”

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” she murmured, grateful beyond measure to have that particular decision taken out of her hands.

 

“What the---!?” Hoss gasped.

“Dolores!” Adam said grimly. “That was Dolores . . . . ”

“Sounded more like a spooked bob cat,” Hoss murmured softly. The elderly woman’s scream had left the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and now, all of a sudden, he couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching them . . . him and Adam . . . somewhere in the night’s deep shadows.

“Hoss . . . . ”

“What?”

“I’ve GOT to find Benjy before Teresa takes it into her head to come looking for the both of us,” Adam said, his tone grim, yet there was a pleading note there as well. “If Dolores inadvertently stumbled upon an intruder . . . . ”

“I . . . dunno,” Hoss said, visibly torn. “Adam, I don’t feel right ‘bout leavin’ YOU t’ face whoever’s out here all by your lonesome.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Adam . . . Hop Sing ‘n Teresa are in the house . . . ‘n I hafta tell ya, I can’t help but feel sorry for whoever’s broken in once he’s met up with the two o’ them,” Hoss grimly pointed out, “ ‘n besides . . . ain’t no way Pa, Joe, ‘n Stacy slept through Mrs. di Cordova screamin’ like that . . . . ”

“True,” Adam had to agree.

 

“Brrr! This floor is . . . it’s ice c-cold!” Ben remarked with a shudder as he stepped into the blessed warmth of the slippers he kept on the floor beside his bed. He grabbed his robe from its place on the bedpost and slipped it on. “ . . . uhhh, Joseph?!”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“Aren’t YOU cold?” he asked, upon noticing that Joe had on pajama pants, with no shirt, and that his robe hung open.

“It IS a mite nippy in here,” Joe confessed, “but I figured you’d left your window open.”

“No.” Ben shook his head. “In fact, I made a point of closing my window just before I went to bed because the past couple of nights have been chilly.”

“It’s even colder out in the hall,” Stacy said, as the three of them made their way across Ben’s room to the door.

“You’re joshin’!” Joe accused.

“Nope.”

“Aww, c’mon, Stace . . . that’s crazy!” Joe exclaimed. “All the doors up here are closed . . . at least they were when I passed through the hall a little while ago.”

“So?”

“SO, Little Sister . . . even if someone DID leave a window open, the hall should still be warmer,” Joe insisted. “There’s gotta be a draft coming in through a hole somewhere.”

“A draft, ‘ey?” she queried, favoring her brother with a jaundiced glare.  
“Like the supposed draft coming through the mouse hole we never found in Bonnie Prince Charlie’s stall?”

Joe shuddered. “Cut it out, Kid. That over active imagination of yours is starting to give me a real bad case of the willies.”

“Save the ghosts, goblins, and all the other things that go bump in the night for Halloween,” Ben admonished both of his younger children sternly. “Right now, we need to get ourselves down stairs and see to Mrs. di Cor--- ”

A loud bang emanating from somewhere downstairs rudely silenced Ben mid-sentence.

 

“What the hell was THAT?” Adam demanded, upon hearing a bang issue from somewhere inside the house.

“You tell ME, Brother, ‘n we’ll BOTH know,” Hoss muttered. “Say, uhhh . . . Adam . . . . ”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t s’pose . . . . ” Hoss’ voice trailed off into the uneasy stillness that had fallen over the entire household.

Before Adam could even begin to form the words, asking Hoss to finish saying what was on his mind, another bang, louder this time, roared from inside the house, followed by another.

“Dadburnit!” Hoss muttered, as he drew his gun from its holster. He pivoted, with a speed, agility, and grace, found in very few men of his mass and stature, then, ran toward the open front door.

 

 

End of Part 2

 

***

 

1\. Jean di Marigny was Marie’s first husband, as seen in Bonanza Episode #120, “Marie, My Love,” written by Anthony Lawrence and Anne Howard Bailey.

2\. See Bonanza Episode #4, “The Paiute War,” written by Gene L. Coon. Young Wolf, son of Chief Winnemucca, and Adam were friends as boys.


	3. Chapter 3

Inside the house, the banging continued, increasing steadily in volume, coming one after the other faster and faster. Hoss burst in through the front door, with gun in hand and a thunderous scowl on his face in the very same instant, Hop Sing barreled around the corner from the dining room, brandishing his meat cleaver, screaming a long string of Chinese invectives at the top of his voice.

“Come on,” Joe urged, with a determined scowl on his face. He slipped past his sister and father, with the ease and agility of a rabbit fleeing through the brush, and bounded the rest of the way down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.

“Joseph!” Ben tersely called to his youngest son, to no avail.

“Daggone it, Grandpa, wait for ME, willya?!” Stacy growled, as she neatly sidestepped around her father.

Ben quickly reached out and snagged hold of the sash holding her robe together, bringing his daughter’s intended dash into a situation where angels, no doubt, fear to tread to an abrupt halt, and drawing a squawk of indignant protest. “YOU STAY BEHIND ME, YOUNG WOMAN,” he sternly admonished his impetuous, headstrong daughter, raising his voice in order to be heard over the constant banging. “YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

“Yes, Sir,” Stacy meekly responded.

 

Downstairs in the great room, Hop Sing froze when the banging suddenly stopped, leaving in its wake an eerie silence more deafening. “Hunh?!” he grunted, as his dark eyes darted uneasily back and forth across the room.

 

“ . . . uhhh, Pa?” Stacy queried, as she and her father came to an abrupt halt mid way between the middle handing and the first floor. Her face was white as a sheet and her hands trembled slightly.

“Yes, Stacy?” Ben responded, laboring valiantly to keep his tone of voice low, calm, and even. He quickly balled his hands into a pair of tight fists to conceal their trembling.

“I dunno which is worse,” Stacy said, unconsciously drawing closer to Ben, “all that racket just a minute ago . . . or this . . . this quiet.”

 

Before anyone could find the wherewithal to act, an explosion of shattering glass broke the stillness, sounding as if every window, every piece of fine china, earthenware, and every other breakable in the house had just been smashed into thousands of tiny pieces all in the same instant. Dolores di Cordova and her young namesake upstairs threw open their respective doors, and fled from their rooms, screaming, crying, on the very edge of hysterics, with the angry, scornful laughter of a young boy echoing in their ears.

 

Dolores sat in the middle of the settee, with blanket and quilt loosely wrapped about her slender frame, staring into the depths of the deep amber liquid filling the snifter she clutched with trembling hands.

“Drink,” Hop Sing pressed.

Dolores closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She silently counted three, then lifted the snifter to her lips and swallowed down half its contents in a single gulp. Her throat burned. She gasped, then succumbed to a brief, yet intense coughing spasm.

Hop Sing unobtrusively took the brandy snifter from her hands. “Little more,” he gently coaxed, as the attack finally began to subside.

Dolores immediately put up her hand, and wagged her head vigorously back and forth. “N-No . . . please! No more brandy!” she half gasped, half sobbed. “Thank you.”

Ben sat in the big, port wine colored chair, over next to the fireplace, cradling Dio on his lap. Thankfully, the worst of her fear had dissipated, though the child continued to whimper very softly, with her arms clasped tight about his waist.

Dio had woken up out of a very sound sleep “ . . . small wonder, that,” Ben sardonically, silently mused, “what with all the odd goings on around here tonight . . . . ” She tearfully insisted that she saw the mean boy standing at the foot of her bed, smiling down at her; the same “mean, nasty boy” who had scared her so badly in the barn earlier. This time, she made no mention of her brother. Ben, wisely, opted not to ask about that omission.

“Pa . . . Hop Sing . . . the tea’s ready,” Stacy quietly announced, as she entered the great room from the kitchen, bearing a tray with a tea pot filled to the brim with steaming hot herbal tea, along with a pair of matching cups and saucers.

“Thank you, Miss Stacy,” Hop Sing said, favoring the girl with a weary smile. “Please . . . set down here, on coffee table.”

Stacy nodded, as did as she had been told.

“Stacy?” Dolores queried.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Wh-What k-kind of tea is that?” Dolores asked, still shaken and wary. “It smells rather nice.”

“It’s chamomile tea, Mrs. di Cordova” Stacy replied, as she filled both cups with tea, steaming hot.

“Chamomile little tiny flower . . . grow wild in field,” Hop Sing explained. “Make soothing tea, help relax. Maybe help sleep.”

“Thank you,” Dolores murmured softly, as she accepted cup and saucer from Stacy. She would need all the help she could get in order to salvage anything remotely resembling a night’s rest of the scant remaining hours until sunrise. As far as she was concerned, tea was infinitely preferable to brandy.

“Dolores?” Ben ventured, after she had taken a few tentative sips from the teacup in hand.

“Yes, Ben?”

“Do you feel up to telling us what happened?”

“I . . . I think so, but . . . may we speak privately?” Dolores asked her eyes straying to Dio, still curled up on her grandfather’s lap.

“Of course,” Ben immediately agreed. He glanced down at the little girl still ensconced within the protective circle of his arms. “Dio?”

“Y-Yes, Grandpa?”

“I want you to stay here with Aunt Stacy and Hop Sing,” he said in a gentle yet firm tone. “They’ll keep you safe.”

“You betcha!” Hop Sing affirmed with a big, reassuring smile and an emphatic nod of his head. “No bad boy get past Hop Sing or Miss Stacy! Hop Sing and Miss Stacy owe bad boy lumps! Many, lotsa, lotsa lumps!”

“You’ve got THAT right . . . . ” Stacy readily agreed, remembering again that lecture from Pa and the eggs smashed all over the kitchen floor.

“Pa?” Joe ventured by way of announcing himself, as he bounded down the steps a few moments after Ben and Dolores had moved into the dining room.

“Papa there, at table with Mrs. Dolores,” Hop Sing said, as he rose from the settee, where he and Stacy now sat on either side of Dio. He crossed the room, moving at a brisk pace on an interception course with Joe.

“I just got through checking the rooms upstairs,” Joe began.

“Did you find that mean, nasty boy, Uncle Joe?” Dio demanded.

Joe sighed very softly and shook his head. “Sorry, Sweetheart, but I’m afraid I couldn’t find hide nor hair of anybody.”

“You look in all rooms? Look under bed? In closet? In wardrobe?!” Hop Sing demanded, as he trotted along side Joe.

“I checked all the bedrooms,” Joe replied, “and yes. I looked in all the closets, the wardrobes, and under all the beds. My knees will never be quite the same again.”

“What about window?”

“I checked all the windows upstairs, too, Hop Sing,” Joe replied. “Every last one of ‘em’s closed, locked up tight, and in one piece.”

“Anything missing, Grandpa?” Stacy asked, as her brother sank down heavily into the blue chair. Hop Sing resumed his place on the settee beside Dio.

“Nope . . . not as far as I could see anyway,” Joe replied, “and all of the other breakable things upstairs were in one piece, too . . . just like the windows.”

 

“Ben, I’m sorry,” Dolores meekly apologized, as she and Ben sat down together at the dining room table, “but, Dio’s so upset, I . . . I didn’t want to say this in front of her . . . . ”

“I understand,” Ben said quietly.

“It was awful,” Dolores moaned very softly. “AWFUL! I . . . I’ve NEVER . . . EVER . . . been so frightened in m-my whole entire life.” She picked up the teacup from its saucer, sitting before her on the dining room table, with both hands. “I woke up because it was cold in my room,” she continued, after taking another sip of tea, “so cold, I . . . I could actually see my breath. When I reached down to take the quilt from the foot of my bed . . . .

“Ben, there was someone in my room!” she cried. “I SAW him . . . first out of the corner of my eyes, then . . . I . . . I saw his face . . . ITS face.” She shuddered again. “It was ghastly! White as a sheet, with dark circles under . . . under where his eyes should’ve been . . . . ”

Ben frowned. “What . . . exactly . . . did you mean when you said . . . where his eyes . . . should have been?” he probed carefully.

Dolores stole a glance over at the settee, where Dio, Joe, and Stacy seemed to be setting up a game of checkers. Satisfied that the child would, for the next few moments at least, be sufficiently occupied, she returned her attention to Ben. “He had no eyes!” she said, taking great care to lower her voice. “He . . . had . . . NO eyes . . . like . . . like a skull has no eyes! Only a p-pair of . . . of d-dark circles . . . w-with nothing!”

There was no doubt in Ben’s mind that an intruder had gained entrance to the house, though he was far more inclined to believe him to be more corporal in nature. “Dolores . . . I . . . know . . . you were frightened . . . you had every reason to be--- ”

“Don’t PATRONIZE me, Ben Cartwright! Don’t you DARE patronize me!” Dolores rudely cut him off. She slowly pushed back her chair and rose to her feet, drawing herself up to the fullness of her height. Folding her arms across her chest, she favored Ben with a withering glare that would have sent any one of her household servants, from the highest to the lowest, scurrying. “I am not a crazy woman, despite what my daughter might say to the contrary . . . I’m NOT! I KNOW I didn’t dream what I saw . . . and I didn’t imagine it, either.”

“It wasn’t my intention to suggest you had,” Ben said very quietly, meeting her glare without flinching. “Dolores, it’s clear that someone HAS broken into this house. HOW he got in, I don’t know. Yet. But, there’s no doubt in MY mind he’s of flesh and blood, just like the rest of us.”

“How do you explain the fact that he had no eyes?!” she demanded, flustered and angry. “I saw him, Ben. He had NO eyes.”

“It was dark in your room,” Ben said very quietly. “Anyone with eyes deeply set within his head would--- ”

“I KNOW what I saw!” Dolores stubbornly maintained.

“ . . . and I don’t disbelieve what you say, Dolores, but I AM saying there’s a perfectly logical explanation for--- ”

Mercifully, the sound of the front door opening cut short the escalating altercation between Ben and Dolores. The former rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving the front door, and placed himself between whoever was about to enter and his houseguest. Across the room, Hop Sing and Joe circled around to the back of the settee, positioning themselves between the front door and the two girls behind them.

 

Teresa entered the house first, visibly shaken, her face white as a sheet. The instant she stepped over the threshold, she moved aside and held the door open for Adam, who followed close behind, with the ominously still form of their son, Benjy, gently cradled his arms.

Ben moved away from the dining room table, and struck out across the great room towards his eldest son, his daughter-in-law, and grandson. “A-Adam?” he queried, his own face and eyes mirroring the same bewilderment and fear he saw very clearly in Adam and Teresa’s. “What---?!”

“I don’t know, Pa . . . . ” Adam replied, wagging his head slowly back and forth, his voice barely above the decibel of a soft whisper.

“We . . . we f-found him outside, Ben,” Teresa continued, her voice tremulous, “half way between the h-house and . . . and the barn. He was . . . h-he was . . . literally . . . d-down on his hands and knees . . . in the midst of a very violent spasm of dry heaving.”

“Where Mister Hoss?” Hop Sing demanded, noting for the first time that the big man seemed to be missing.

“In the barn,” Adam replied, speaking in a wooden monotone. “Saddling Chubb, I . . . I asked him to get the doctor.”

“Bring Benjy over to the settee,” Ben ordered, taking charge of the situation.

Stacy took Dio by the hand and led her from the great room to the dining room, where Dolores remained on her feet, watching through eyes round with astonishment and dread, as Adam beat a straight path from the front door over to the settee in front of the fireplace. Dio followed behind her aunt, casting an occasional furtive glance over her shoulder.

“His entire body’s colder than ice,” Adam murmured softly, as he gently placed his insensate son on the settee, then covered him with his own bathrobe.

Teresa seated herself on the edge of the coffee table. “You’re right, Adam,” she said, her voice catching as she gently took both of his hands and held them gently sandwiched between her own.

“Stacy.”

“Yes, Pa?”

“Run upstairs and grab some blankets out of the armoire in the spare room at the top of the stairs,” Ben ordered, “and grab the pillow off the bed, too.”

Stacy nodded, and bounded upstairs, taking them two at a time.

“What happened?” Ben asked.

“I wish I knew,” Adam replied. He sat down beside his son and began to vigorously rub the boy’s bare feet. “He was conscious . . . barely . . . when Teresa, Hoss, and I found him . . . in the midst of some pretty intense dry heaving. In between spasms, h-he . . . he was babbling, but none of what he said made any sense.”

 _“I’ll bet anything he’s faking,”_ Dio silently, angrily groused. _“He’s FAKING being sick so he won’t get in trouble for all the mean things he did in the barn today . . . and for scaring Grandmother and me tonight. It’s NOT FAIR!”_

Had she been asked, Dio would be very hard pressed to explain exactly how Benjy had managed to do all of those things, but that didn’t matter one bit. SHE knew beyond a single doubt her brother was guilty . . . and that plain and simply was that. What troubled and surprised her was none of the other grown-ups saw through Benjy’s act . . . including Ma and Pa . . . and THEY almost always knew everything!

“Pa . . . I’ve got the pillow and blankets you asked for,” Stacy said by way of announcing herself, as she leapt down over the last two steps to the floor, and strode briskly across the room.

“Thank you, Stacy,” Adam murmured, weary, frightened, yet grateful. He took the big, down pillow and carefully eased it under Benjy’s head, while Ben and Stacy covered him with the blankets.

Hop Sing, meanwhile, reached down and gently touched Benjy’s forehead. “How---?!” he gasped, then vigorously shook his head. “You say boy cold,” he continued looking over at Teresa first, then at Adam. “But here . . . boy HOT! Burning up!”

Frowning, Teresa gently placed her son’s hands down onto his chest and pulled up the blankets. She, then, leaned over and touched her lips to Benjy’s forehead. “H-Hop Sing’s right!” she gasped . . . .

 

 _He and his new friend stood together, side by side, on the fireplace hearth and watched the front door opening. The other boy shifted from foot to foot, smiling the kind of smile kids do when they have a secret they want to tell in just about the worst kind of way, but can’t for whatever reason . . . ._

 _. . . or won’t._

 _“What?” he demanded, not bothering to hide his annoyance._

 _“Watch,” the other boy said. “Just watch.”_

 _Mother entered the house first, then Papa, carrying something . . . no! SomeONE! in his arms. He stood on tiptoes, trying very hard to see._

 _“God’s nightshirt!” the other boy groused, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Can’t you stand still for two seconds?!”_

 _“What about YOU?!” he shot right back. “With all your rutching around, trying not to laugh . . . . ”_

 _“I am NOT!”_

 _“Y’ ARE SO!” he yelled, then, horrified, clapped his hands over his mouth._

 _“They can’t hear you . . . remember!?”_

 _“Oh . . . yeah . . . . ” He turned and watched the others . . . his parents, grandparents, aunt and uncle, his sister, and the Chinese man . . . warily, with his hands still over his mouth. They suddenly erupted into a flurry of frenetic activity, everyone scurrying about like . . . like chickens with their heads cut off. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but one of his uncles said that about situations like the one unfolding before his eyes._

 _Yet, incredibly, no once so much as glanced over in the direction of the fireplace._

 _“I TOLD you . . . they can’t see us or hear us,” the other boy reminded him smugly. “We can yell, scream, jump up and down . . . anything we want. They won’t yell at us, or tell us to be quiet, or punish us . . . . ”_

 _“Are we invisible?”_

 _“To THEM we are.”_

 _The thought of being invisible to everyone around him was lots of fun, but it felt very strange, too. He saw Papa remove his bathrobe and place over whoever it was now lying on the settee, like a blanket. Mother sat on the coffee table, with her back to him, blocking his view of . . . of the someone Papa just carried into the house._

 _“Come on. Let’s go play,” the other boy urged._

 _“I wanna see who it is,” he protested._

 _“Who CARES who it is? I wanna play.”_

 _“Now?! It’s the middle of the night!”_

 _“So?!”_

 _“So . . . if they catch me running around outside in the middle of the night, I’ll be in big trouble . . . worse than I’m in already.”_

 _The other boy laughed. “You stupid head! How many times do I hafta tell ya . . . they can’t SEE or HEAR you!? They won’t even KNOW you’re outside playing! Come on! Last one out’s a rotten egg . . . . ” He ran for the door, beating a straight path . . . as the crow flies, his uncle might say . . . ._

 _He saw with dismay that his new friend was already half way to the door. “FIRST ONE OUTSIDE’S GOTTA EAT IT,” he shouted, as he moved away from the hearth and started past Mother._

 _As he passed the settee, he paused just long enough to take a peek at the whoever Papa had carried into the house._

 _“Come ON!” the other boy impatiently called from the door._

 _“Just a minute!” he angrily snapped back._

 _“I SAID come ON!”_

 _“Willya STOP telling me what to do?!” he angrily turned on his new friend. “I’m getting sick ‘n tired of you telling me what to do all the time! You’re NOT my . . . uhhh, m-my . . . . ” His words trailed away to stunned silence the instant his eyes fell upon . . . ._

 _“ . . . m-me!” he whispered, staring down at his own body through eyes round with horror. “It’s . . . it’s ME!”_

 

“Benjy, does this hurt?” Paul Martin asked, as he pushed against the boy’s abdomen on the right side.

“N-No, Sir.”

“How about now?” Paul pushed again, same spot, but a little harder.

“No.”

With help from his father and Hop Sing, Benjy had changed into a fresh nightshirt, and moved to the bed in the guest room on the first floor. Doctor Paul Martin sat on one side of the bed, while the boy’s mother, Teresa, anxiously looked on from her place, seated on the other side of the bed. Adam stood behind his wife, with both hands resting lightly, reassuringly on her shoulders, and Ben hovering at his elbow. Hoss and Joe stood together just inside the bedroom door.

“Does THIS hurt?” Doctor Martin pushed in the middle of the abdomen.

“No,” Benjy replied.

“How about here?” The doctor’s hands moved to the right.

“N-No, Sir. That doesn’t hurt either.”

“Does this hurt?” Paul’s hands moved further to the right and pushed in hard.

“It . . . it doesn’t feel very good, but it doesn’t really hurt,” Benjy murmured in a weak voice, barely audible.

Paul checked Benjy’s pulse then removed his stethoscope from his black bag and listened to the boy’s heart. “His heart sounds very good, though his pulse rate’s up,” the doctor said quietly, as returned his stethoscope to his bag, sitting open on the night table beside the bed. “Normal consequence, I expect, of him running all the way out into the middle of the yard from his room upstairs, and being sick on top of that. Benjy?”

“Y-Yes, Sir?”

“Do you hurt anywhere else besides your stomach?”

“My hands feel kind of f-funny and . . . I can’t feel my feet.”

Paul immediately threw the covers aside.

“Doctor, m-may I h-h-have the blankets b-back? Please?” Benjy begged. “I’m . . . I’m freezing!”

“You may in just a moment, Benjy,” Paul replied. “I want to see whether or not you can move your feet.”

Benjy frowned. “I’m not sure . . . if I . . . if I can . . . exactly . . . . ”

“Try.”

Benjy squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated.

Paul nodded, satisfied, as his patient moved both feet up and down, circled them, then moved them from side to side with the ease and dexterity normal for a child his age. “Benjy . . . . ”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I’d like you to finish the rest of that peppermint tea Hop Sing brewed for you, then close your eyes and go back to sleep,” the doctor said as he covered Benjy with the sheets, blanket, and quilt. “I’m going to step out side and speak with your ma and pa for a few minutes. Will you be alright?”

“I guess so. Doctor Martin, may I ask you a question first?”

“Certainly.”

“I-I’m not going to . . . I . . . I’m not going to DIE . . . am I?”

Paul favored the boy with a weary smile and shook his head. “No, Son, not from an upset stomach. If you get yourself plenty of rest, stick to a soft, bland diet, and drink plenty of liquids for the next couple of days, you ought to be good as new.”

“Adam . . . Teresa . . . I’ll stay with Benjy while you two speak with the doctor,” Ben offered.

“You don’t HAVE to stay, if you don’t want to, Grandpa,” Benjy said quietly. “I AM a big boy now . . . . ”

“I know you’re a big boy, Benjy,” his grandfather said, as he pulled up a chair along the side of the bed Doctor Martin had just vacated. “But . . . I think you know how much mothers and fathers tend to worry when their children aren’t feeling well . . . . ”

Benjy nodded his head, then sighed. “Mothers and papas DO tend to worry a lot, don’t they.” It was a statement of fact not an inquiry.

“You betcha!” Hoss chortled before Ben could reply. He entered the room and walked over to the foot of the bed. “ ‘Round here, WE call it ‘Pa’s Prerogative.’ ”

Benjy looked up at his uncle with a puzzled frown. “Pa’s prerogative?” he asked, with left eyebrow slightly upraised.

“Pa’s Prerogative’s a pa’s right ‘n privilege to worry himself silly over a child who’s hurt, or not feelin’ well,” Hoss explained with a smile. “Now in the case o’ you ‘n your sister, it’s ‘Ma’s ‘n Pa’s Prerogative.’ ”

“ . . . and among us Cartwrights, that prerogative gets exercised twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week,” Joe added with a naughty grin and a wry roll of the eyes heavenward.

“Is what you call ‘Pa’s Prerogative’ because Grandpa had to do all the worrying for Grandma, Grandma Inger, Grandma Marie, and . . . and Aunt Stacy’s mother . . . in addition to his own?” Benjy asked. “That’s what Papa said . . . .”

His inquiry elicited a bark of laughter from Uncle Hoss and a peal of rapid-fire high-pitched giggles from Uncle Joe.

“Oh he DID, hunh?” Ben queried, again with mock severity. “Well you just wait ‘til I get hold of your papa.”

A soft knock against the frame of the open door, drew Joe and Hoss’ attention from their mirth. It was Stacy. “Ok if I come in?” she asked.

“Sure,” Ben readily granted his daughter permission to enter.

“I heard you guys laughing your heads off just now,” she said as she stepped inside, glancing over at Hoss first, then at Joe. “What’s so funny?”

“I think Benjy here just landed his father . . . our OLDEST brother . . . right smack dab into a whole world of trouble,” Joe teased, his eyes sparkling with impish delight.

“Oh?”

“Um hmm!” Ben affirmed. “It seems the father of this young man . . . . ” he inclined his head slightly in Benjy’s direction, “ . . . said that I’M a worrywart.”

“You ARE, Pa,” Stacy said with a smile, as she walked across the room toward her father. She slipped her arms loosely about his shoulders and gave him a gentle, affectionate squeeze. “That’s ONE of the reasons why we love ya so much.”

“Grandpa?”

“Yes, Benjy?” Ben responded as he reached up and gave Stacy’s hand, now resting on his shoulder, a gentle, affectionate squeeze.

“You mean you . . . that you STILL worry about Uncle Joe and Uncle Hoss?!” Benjy asked, casting a furtive look of near comical disbelief over at his two uncles. “I mean, Aunt Stacy . . . she’s still just a girl, sorta . . . almost . . . . ”

“Hmpf! I like that!” Stacy snorted with mock derision.

Between the solemn way in which Benjy had just uttered those words and the farcical look on his sister’s face, Joe had to turn his back on all present and stick his balled fist in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“ . . . but Uncle Hoss and Uncle Joe are grown-ups, Grandpa,” Benjy continued, “just like you, Papa, Mother, Grandmother, and Hop Sing.”

Ben smiled. “Benjy, I’m gonna tell ya something you probably won’t understand fully right now, but you will someday . . . after you take a wife and have children of your own,” he said quietly.

“What’s that, Grandpa?”

“Even if these uncles of yours . . . your aunt . . . and your papa, too, for that matter, all live to be well over a hundred, and I that much older . . . I’ll STILL worry about them,” Ben said. “Not all the time, mind . . . and certainly not twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, like SOME people around here might suggest . . . . ” He turned and glared over at his youngest son for emphasis.

“I haven’t the SLIGHTEST idea what you’re talking about, Pa,” Joe declared in a tone of voice too innocent.

“At any rate, Benjy . . . as their father, I love the four of ‘em very much,” Ben continued, “and part of loving them means being concerned about them, about how they’re doing . . . how they’re feeling . . . if things aren’t going well for them, whether they’re sick, or injured . . . I worry about them even though your father and uncles ARE grown men, and your aunt’s almost a grown woman . . . sorta. Same, I expect, as YOUR father . . . and mother, too, worry about you and your sister.”

“I s’pose,” Benjy murmured very quietly, in a voice barely audible, his mind all of a sudden assailed with doubt.

“Well . . . you’d best finish up that peppermint tea like Doctor Martin asked,” Ben quietly urged, breaking the silence that had momentarily fallen upon them all.

“Grandpa?”

“Yes, Benjy?”

“I . . . I don’t see my book,” the boy said, his eyes moving across the bed, and coming to rest on the night table, where Paul Martin’s black bag still remained.

“It’s probably upstairs in your room,” Ben said. “I’m sure you’ll find it on your night table there, when we take you back up.”

Benjy’s face suddenly lost what little color it had regained since his parents and Uncle Hoss found him outside.

“Benjy?! Are you all right?” Ben queried, half afraid the boy was going to pass out.

“Grandpa . . . I . . . please, I . . . I d-don’t wanna go back to that room upstairs,” the boy barely managed getting the words out. “May I stay HERE? Please?”

“I don’t think so, Benjy,” Ben replied. His grandson’s desperate pleas had taken him completely by surprise. “This IS you grandmother’s room.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“Mrs. di Cordova asked me to tell you that she’s moved herself to one of the spare rooms upstairs,” Stacy said very quietly.

“Since Grandmother’s moved to another room upstairs, may I please stay here, Grandfather?” Benjy begged.

“Suppose we ask your father and mother . . . and see what THEY have to say,” Ben suggested.

 

“Adam . . . Teresa, has the boy been running a high fever?” Paul Martin, meanwhile, asked the boy’s parents, after the three of them had moved from the downstairs guest room to the great room.

“I . . . don’t know, Doctor,” Adam replied with a helpless shrug. “When Teresa, Hoss, and I found him, his entire body was cold as ice . . . yet Hop Sing and Teresa both said his forehead was hot just after I placed him down on the settee in the living room. I haven’t the slightest idea what to make of that . . . . ”

“How about BEFORE tonight?” Paul asked.

“No, Doctor,” Teresa adamantly shook her head, “apart from an occasional complaint about an upset stomach, he’s been just fine since he, his grandmother, and sister arrived.”

“ . . . and Mrs. di Cordova made no mention of either child being ill during the time they were with her and Teresa’s father,” Adam added.

“How long the boy was outside before you found him?”

“It couldn’t have been all that long, Doctor Martin,” Adam replied. “The sound of the front door banging against the credenza woke all three of us . . . Teresa, Hoss, and me. Though we initially thought it was someone breaking into the house, I’m pretty sure it was Benjy. It had to be.”

“So . . . an hour maybe?”

Adam shook his head. “Less,” he replied. “I’d say closer to half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes at the very outside. But even so, when we found him, he was so cold . . . he felt as if he’d been outside all night long.”

“It IS pretty chilly out,” Paul agreed.

“Not that chilly, Doctor Martin,” Adam insisted. “The only time I’ve EVER felt a human being that cold was the time Joe ended up spending an entire night huddled in a lean-to against a blizzard when he was sixteen.”

“Have Dio or Mrs. di Cordova complained of similar symptoms?”

“What . . . symptoms are you talking about, Doctor?” Teresa asked. “Sorry, I . . . with everything that’s gone on here tonight, I’m afraid I’m not thinking very clearly . . . . ”

“Perfectly understandable,” Paul said kindly. “In addition to his stomach hurting, Benjy also said that his hands felt funny, and that he couldn’t feel his feet. Have either Mrs. di Cordova or Dio complained of having those symptoms?”

“No,” Teresa answered immediately.

Adam simply shook his head.

“How about the rest of the family?”

Adam and Teresa exchanged puzzled glances for a moment.

“No,” Adam finally replied. “Teresa and I’ve been here . . . it’s been a little over a month now, and everyone seems to be perfectly healthy.”

“Doctor, what . . . exactly . . . IS wrong with our son?” Teresa asked.

“I WAS afraid he might be suffering from appendicitis,” Paul replied, “but thank the Good Lord, he’s not.”

“Amen to that,” Adam heartily agreed.

“Since he’s not running a high fever, my recommendation for the next couple of days is rest,” Paul Martin quietly imparted his instructions. “I . . . know how you Cartwrights tend to be about keeping still when you’re not well, so you’ll be relieved to hear you DON’T have to confine young Benjy to bed, as long as he takes things easy.”

His words brought an amused smile to Teresa’s lips, in the midst of her anxiety and concern.

“Keep him on a soft, bland diet, and see that he gets plenty of liquids . . . water, weak tea, broth . . . as much as you can get in him,” Paul continued. “I’d go easy on the milk, though . . . sometimes it can be a little difficult to digest. When the pharmacy in town opens, I’ll ask Amos to send out some medication to ease his nausea and settle his stomach. That and Hop Sing’s peppermint tea should help the boy keep things down so he can regain his strength.”

“How often should we give Benjy the medicine, Doctor?” Teresa asked.

“A spoonful before and after each meal, and at bed time,” Paul replied. “Don’t worry. I’ll write out the instructions. Now if Benjy DOES start running a high fever, or if his symptoms worsen, please send for me immediately.”

“We will, Doctor,” Adam promised.

“Thank you so much for coming out, Doctor Martin,” Teresa said gratefully. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I’d better see to Benjy and let Ben go back to bed, and try to salvage what he can of a good night’s sleep.”

“Yes, of course,” Paul readily assented. “I’ll be back around in a couple of days to look in on him.”

“I’ll see you out, Doctor Martin,” Adam offered.

“There’s no need, Adam,” Paul said. “After all these years, I can find my way out blindfolded.”

“I want to ask you about a couple of those symptoms Benjy mentioned,” Adam said, as he fell in step beside the physician, “specifically the funny feelings in his hands and not being able to feel his feet.”

“What about them?”

Adam sighed very softly and shook his head, as he opened the front door for the doctor. “I hope you don’t think me an overwrought father, but . . . those symptoms and some of the questions you asked Teresa and me . . . there’s something nagging at the back of my mind about all that, but for the life of me, I can’t recall . . . . ”

“Frankly, I’m surprised you remember anything about that,” Paul said, “you couldn’t have been much older than your son at the time . . . IF that . . . and, as I recall you were pretty sick yourself. So was Hoss.”

“Sick with . . . the same symptoms Benjy complained about earlier?”

Paul nodded.

“What kind if illness did Hoss and I have . . . exactly?”

“You and Hoss were stricken with ergot poisoning,” Paul explained.

“Ergot . . . isn’t that some kind of rye mold?” Adam asked.

Paul nodded his head. “You two were very lucky,” he said. “By the time you and Hoss were stricken, old Doctor Pritchard and I had figured out that the epidemic going around Virginia City was a wide spread case of ergot poisoning. You boys recovered very quickly after your pa removed all the rye bread and flour from his larder.”

“The moldy rye was found in the general store, wasn’t it,” Adam said, stating fact rather than making an inquiry.

“Yes, it was,” Paul replied. “Caleb Marsh, the proprietor . . . Adam, in the normal course of things, I don’t make it a general practice to speak ill of the dead, but the kindest things I can think of to say about that man are . . . he was a meaner than a snake, and as miserly, and as greedy as they come.” The doctor was surprised at high his feelings still ran after all these years at the mere mention of the man’s name.

“Just before the first children were stricken with ergot poisoning, Caleb had gotten hold of a very large quantity of rye, a whole barn full, in fact . . . in what was ‘just about the sweetest deal ever made.’ HIS words when he bragged about it to anyone in earshot . . . not mine,” the doctor continued. “By the time Doctor Pritchard, then Deputy Sheriff Coffee, your pa, and I traced the bad rye to the general store . . . nearly twenty children had already died.”

“It’s the less fortunate among us who most commonly buy rye flour to make their bread because it’s cheaper than flour ground from wheat,” Adam said.

“At the time that description would have fit nearly everyone.”

“ . . . Pa included,” Adam agreed. “We were what most would call land poor. All the money Pa worked for and saved went to purchase the first parcel of land that would someday become the Ponderosa, and when I was around Benjy’s age, most of the money we made then went back into the operation. Back then, it seemed a good portion of our meals were rye bread, milk, and eggs, especially during the winter months, when the apples and potatoes we’d harvested earlier began to run low. I also remember Pa doing without supper, and dinner, too, on many occasions so there would be enough for Hoss and me.”

“A lot of other parents did as your pa did so that their children could eat,” Paul said sadly, yet with a touch of anger. “That’s why so many children were down sick, but so few adults. It was a cruel irony . . . a very cruel irony indeed . . . that the parents’ sacrifice ultimately doomed their children.”

“It runs in my mind there was a family nearby who was particularly hard hit,” Adam said slowly.

“Yes. They were neighbors of yours, Adam . . . mother, father, the father’s parents, and six children,” the doctor affirmed. “Their farm was right here, in fact.”

“Do you remember their name?”

“The family’s name was Menken,” Paul replied, then shook his head. “I’m afraid their first names escape me, though I can still see their faces. All six children ended up dying of ergot poisoning. That was a tragedy that should NEVER have happed.”

“Why do you say that?” Adam asked. An ice-cold shiver ran down the entire length of his spine. He turned and cast a quick furtive glance over his shoulder.

“The Menken children were stricken not long AFTER you and Hoss,” Paul explained. “YOUR pa got rid of the bad rye flour when he found out what you boys were suffering from and why. Mister Menken . . . didn’t, though I didn’t find that out until after their eldest boy died.”

“He was the last of the Menken children to die?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder why Mister Menken didn’t get rid of the bad rye?” Adam quietly wondered aloud.

“I’m afraid I don’t know . . . not for absolute certain,” Paul replied. “MY guess is they were too poor to buy anymore.”

“How could THAT be?!” Adam demanded, incredulous. “You said their farm was where our house and barn are now . . . right?”

Paul nodded.

“The land here is very good land, very fertile with a stream running not far from where Pa and I built the house. I think YOU know that as well as I do.” Adam sighed and shook his head in complete bewilderment. “They could’ve easily supported themselves at the very least.”

“Key word there is work, Adam, as, I think, YOU know very well,” Paul replied. “Mrs. Menken and their oldest boy tried, bless their hearts. They tried very hard, but it was too much for them to handle alone . . . even WITH your pa giving them a hand from time to time.”

“What about Mister Menken . . . and his parents?”

“Neither Mister Menken nor his parents could be bothered,” Paul said, his voice filled with contempt. “He and his father were a couple of drunkards and his mother was a bitter, angry old woman, who by and large kept to herself . . . but I digress.

“The morning the oldest Menken boy was laid to rest, Mister Menken and his father both were drunk,” the doctor continued. “Looking back, I’m inclined to think the elder Mister Menken, the grandfather, may have been the instigator behind a lot of this. While your pa and Roy buried the boy, the boy’s father ranted on and on about how he didn’t believe for one minute the rye was bad . . . that Roy and I’d said so was because we wanted to starve him and his family into pulling up stakes and moving on . . . he even went so far as to accuse ME of murdering all six children. Between that and the fact that the Menken children were the first patients I’d ever lost . . . I almost took down my shingle then and there . . . for good.”

“Well, I for one, am very glad you DIDN’T take down your shingle for good,” Adam said earnestly. “I trusted you in years past to look after my pa and brothers, and I trust you now to look after my son. Now mind, I’m not expecting it, but if . . . if anything untoward DOES happen, I’ll know that you did everything you could.”

“Thank you, Adam . . . for that vote of confidence.”

 

 _Roses._

 _The air all around him smelled like roses._

 _The cloying scent lay heavy on the air, a palpable thing, like a heavy vapor rising from a warm body of water on a cold, icy morning. So heavy, he could actually taste the roses every time he drew breath. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself lying in the middle of the bed in Grandmother’s room. The bright morning sun shone through the windows, projecting a patchwork of light and shadow on the carpet below._

 _“What am I doing HERE?” He asked himself. Then, suddenly, he remembered. He took sick during the night, and couldn’t go back to his own room for some reason . . . ._

 _Since Grandmother decided to move upstairs, they decided he could stay here . . . with Papa._

 _“Papa?”_

 _He glanced around the room, his eyes darting frantically from pillar to post. Papa was nowhere in sight. He was alone. Completely and utterly alone._

 _“NO! OH NO, OH NO . . . NO!”_

 _It was Mother. The grief, the hopeless despair he heard in her anguished cries broke his heart. Through eyes half closed, he saw her bending over him, her face pale, its lines deeply etched by a weariness that seemed to infuse her entire being. The fine tendrils of red hair framed her face like a ruddy cloud, and her blue eyes shone with newly formed tears that fed the rivulets already flowing down her red, swollen cheeks._

 _“Wake up, Baby!” she begged, in a voice barely audible. She gently tapped his cheeks with her rough, callused hand. “Please, Baby. Please, please wake up!”_

 _“Stop that!” Papa’s face now loomed above him, unshaven, his eyes gray and lifeless. He had brown, curly hair, a wide mouth, and broad jaw line. His breath reeked of homemade hooch._

 _“Gotta wake up m’ boy. I need him.” Mother patted his cheeks again. “Come ON, Baby, please? Please? Wake up for Mama?”_

 _He tried desperately to move, to blink his eyes, say something, but a strange, frightening paralysis seemed to have risen up out of nowhere and overtaken his body._

 _“Oh, Baby, please . . . please,” Mother groaned, patting his cheeks with a firmer, more insistent hand. “You GOTTA wake up!”_

 _Her anguish stirred up sadness and regret, the like of which he had never known. He wanted to cry, would have given just about anything to cry, but the tears would not come. All he could do was lie there, helpless, unable to move or communicate . . . ._

 _I’m sorry, Mother, he silently lamented. I want to wake up, I wish I COULD wake up . . . more than I’ve ever wished for anything, but I can’t._

 _“STOP IT!” Papa yelled, his face red as the roses he kept smelling. “YOU STOP IT RIGHT NOW, Y’ HEAR? I ALREADY DONE TOL’JA . . . HE AIN’T GONNA WAKE UP. NOT NOW, NOT NEVER! HE AIN’T NEVER, EVER, GONNA WAKE UP . . . NOT EVER AGAIN.”_

 _A low guttural wail, primal in its anguish, rose from the depths of Mother’s throat, as Papa dragged her to her feet and pulled her away from the bed._

 _“I’m sorry.” A third face appeared. A man’s face, framed by a thick, wavy mane of hair the deep rich color of newly turned earth. His kind eyes were filled with deep sadness and bitter regret._

 _He had seen that face and those eyes before. He desperately wracked his brains, trying to remember._

 _The man with the sad eyes and kind face grabbed something in his hands and started pulling it toward him. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m really . . . very . . . very . . . sorry.”_

 _“Paul . . . . ”_

 _Grandpa?! The face now peering down at him over the shoulder of the kind man with sad eyes was much younger than the face he was accustomed to seeing, but he knew without a shred of doubt it WAS Grandpa’s face._

 _“ . . . you did everything you possibly could.”_

 _“Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough . . . it wasn’t anywhere NEAR enough,” the man Grandpa called Paul said. The something he held in both hands was a sheet. For one brief moment he thought Paul was going to tuck him in, the way Papa had . . . was it last night? The night before perhaps? Last YEAR?! All of a sudden, he couldn’t quite remember._

 _But, Paul didn’t tuck him in . . . ._

 _He pulled the sheet up over his head._

 _“No,” Mother wept, somewhere on the other side of the sheet. “Not my baby! Not . . . MY . . . baby!”_

 _Grandpa?! he whimpered, frightened and feeling very much alone. Help me, Grandpa! Please . . . you’ve gotta help me . . . ._

 _Grandpa never came._

 _He called, and called, and called, yelling so loud, he gave himself a headache._

 _But no one came._

 _Eventually, the men’s voices and Mother’s piteous weeping diminished, taking with them the music of the occasional summer breezes wafting through the trees, the buzzing of locusts, the near constant chattering of birds, and the mournful lowing of their hungry milk cow and her half starved calf. The stillness left in the wake of their passing frightened him._

 _“ ‘Fraidy cat, fraidy cat . . . . ” His sister’s whisper soft chanting shattered the silence with a near deafening roar. “ ‘Fraidy cat, ‘fraidy cat . . . Benjy is a ‘fraidy cat . . . . ”_

 _Shut-up, Dio._

 _“It’s TRUE, Benjy!” she taunted. “You ARE a ‘fraidy cat.”_

 _I TOLD you to shut-up._

 _“You’re nothin’ but a great big . . . . ”_

 _STOP IT!_

 _“ . . . ‘fraidy cat, cry baby!”_

 _STOP IT, DIO! DO YOU HEAR ME? STOP IT!_

 _Benjy?_

 _Benjy, it’s Papa!_

 _Wake up, Benjy . . . ._

His eyes snapped open. Taking a deep, ragged breath, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Adam was immediately at his son’s side, gathering the terrified boy in his arms, holding him close. At length, Benjy’s terrified screaming gave way to near hysterical sobbing. “It’s all right, Buddy, it’s all right,” Adam murmured softly, his voice catching. “I’m here . . . I’m right here, Son, and I’m going to stay right here!”

Benjy, clinging to his father for dear life, buried his face tight against Adam’s shoulder. “Oh, Papa . . . Papa,” he wept, “it w-was . . . it was horrible!”

Adam’s sharp ears picked up the faint sounds of someone lightly rapping on the closed door to the downstairs bedroom. “Who is it?”

“Hop Sing, Mister Adam.”

“Come on in, Hop Sing, please.”

Hop Sing opened the door and ambled into the room, carrying the brandy snifter in one hand and a glass in the other. “Help boy calm down, maybe sleep better.”

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Adam said gratefully. “Would you mind pouring some into that glass?”

Hop Sing nodded and filled the glass half way, then handed it to Adam.

“Benjy . . . . ”

Adam tried to turn him around, but the boy hung on, his arms firmly clasped around Adam’s neck.

“It’s all right, Buddy,” Adam said in a quiet, reassuring tone. He handed the glass back to Hop Sing, then gently turned the still sobbing Benjy around and placed him on his lap. “I’d like you to drink a little of this . . . . ” He reached out his hand to take back the brandy glass.

“D-don’t go, Papa, please? Please, don’t go!” Benjy sobbed.

“Don’t you worry one bit about that, Son. I am not going ANYWHERE,” Adam hastened to assure the boy. He brought the brandy glass close to his son’s lips. “Benjy, I’d like you to take a sip of this . . . . ”

Sobbing, Benjy swallowed from the glass touching his bottom lip, and coughed.

Adam held his son and gently stroked his back, until the boy’s coughing subsided. “This brandy’s strong stuff, Buddy. I’d like you to take one more sip, if you can manage?”

Benjy nodded. When his father brought the glass to his lips again, he sipped gingerly.

The boy’s weeping lessened, and Adam felt his body sagging more heavily against him. He handed the brandy glass back to Hop Sing.

“Mister Adam need Hop Sing for anything more?”

Adam wearily shook his head. “We’ll be alright now, Hop Sing. Thank you for bringing that brandy.”

“Hop Sing go to bed now. Leave brandy for Mister Adam on table beside bed.”

“Thank you.”

“Good night, Mister Adam, and you, too, Benjy.”

“Good night, Hop Sing.”

“Oh, Papa, it was horrible!” Benjy murmured in a small, frightened voice, after Hop Sing had gone.

Adam hugged his son closer. “Do you want to talk about it?” he quietly invited.

“D-Do I have to?”

Adam was taken aback by the question. “No, Benjy, you don’t HAVE to tell me. I . . . just thought maybe you’d WANT to tell me.”

Benjy buried his face against his father’s shoulder, drawing from him comfort and reassurance. “No! I . . . I’d rather NOT, Papa. Please don’t make me! Please! It’s . . . it’s too scary!”

“I won’t make you tell me, Buddy,” Adam promised.

“Thank you, Papa.”

“May I tell you a story instead?”

Benjy found himself smiling despite the terror that yet remained with him. “Y-you haven’t told me any bedtime stories since . . . I guess since I was Dio’s age.”

“This one’s a little different because it’s true,” Adam said.

“Really?”

“Um hmm. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“This story begins on Christmas Eve . . . oh, it’s been a few years now. It was the year you told your mother and me that you no longer believed in Santa Claus,” Adam began.

“I remember.”

“You also asked me about my mother,” Adam continued. “I think your exact words were, ‘How come Mother has a mother and papa, but you only have a papa?’ ”

“You told me that YOUR mother died a long time ago, when you were a baby.”

Adam nodded. “I know what she looked like. My pa, your grandpa, had those two miniatures of him and her for a long time. I think someone gave them those paintings as a wedding gift.”

“Are those the portraits you keep on the desk in your study, Papa?”

“Yes, they are, Benjy,” Adam replied. “Because we had that picture, I always knew what my mother looked like, but I never had the chance to know her because I was so young when she died.”

“But . . . you’ve told Dio and me all kinds of things about her.”

“A lot of what I’ve told the two of you, are memories your grandpa has shared with me over the years.”

“Didn’t he also give you her diary for a present that same Christmas?”

Adam smiled. “Yes, he did, along with a bound, printed copy of his own journal that covers the time he courted my mother, their marriage, and my coming into the world. He also gave me the letters both of them wrote back and forth to each other all the times he was at sea.”

“I remember. You’ve read some of them to Mother, Dio, and me.”

“Yes, I have,” Adam replied. “Over the years, I’ve come to know about my mother through what my father told me, and through words she, herself, wrote in her diary. But I have no memories of my own about her. The first mother I really knew was a wonderful, kind, beautiful lady from Sweden. Her name was Inger Borgstrom.”

“Grandma Inger?”

Adam smiled and nodded his head. “That’s right. Grandma Inger.”

“She was Uncle Hoss’ mother.”

“Yes, she was, but in a very real way, she was just as much MY mother, too,” Adam continued. “I know she loved me very much. I remember her singing me to sleep almost every night with lullabies in Swedish. She had a very lovely voice. That first night, after Uncle Hoss came into the world, she sang the both of us to sleep.” Adam felt his eyes misting as he remembered. “That night, Benjy, I think Inger sang her most beautiful lullaby ever.”

“She died, too, didn’t she?” Benjy asked. “When Uncle Hoss was a baby?”

“Yes, she did.”

“How, Papa?”

“She was killed in an Indian raid at the Ash Hallow Way Station,” Adam said, his voice catching. “One minute, she was at the window with rifle in hand, the next she lay dying in your grandpa’s arms with an arrow in her back. We, your grandpa and I, were devastated. After we buried Inger and moved on, I began to have some terrifying nightmares.”

“Like . . . the one’s I’ve had?”

“I think so, Benjy, because they left me every bit as upset and frightened as you’re feeling right now. Because Inger died so suddenly, I was terrified I’d lose Pa, too. I wanted to talk to him about it, but I just couldn’t bring myself.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want him to think I was some kind of sissy,” Adam replied. “I was the big boy after all, and with Inger gone, I had to help Pa look after your uncle, Hoss. So, night after night I kept on having these horrible nightmares of Hoss and Pa being killed, or of them going off and forgetting me. One night, I woke up screaming from what had to have been the scariest one of them all . . . . ”

Memory of that dream came back with all the sharp, crystal clarity of an event that had happened five minutes ago.

 

 _They were all back at the way station at Ash Hallow. He could hear the angry and terrifying cries of the war party, as they rode down over the hill toward the way station, sounding like a shrieking bird of prey as it swoops down on its hapless victim. As before, he was huddled in a safe corner, with baby Hoss in his arms, feeling horribly alone and more frightened than he could recall ever having felt in his entire life. Ma, he had called Inger that from the very beginning, and Pa were at the windows with the others, armed with rifles fighting for their very lives._

 _Then, suddenly, an arrow flew in through the open window and found its mark deep in Inger’s back. She cried out, then collapsed, with a strange, agonizing slowness. Before she reached the floor, a second arrow embedded itself in Pa’s chest. He stumbled back, his face a terrible mixture of astonishment and rage. His movements were also terribly slowed, like Ma’s. The impact of their bodies striking the floor, Ma first, then Pa, sounded for all the world like rolling thunder._

 _Adam bolted from the safety of the corner, clutching his infant brother in his arms, screaming. A third arrow flew into the window and found its mark in Hoss’ heart. The baby in his arms let out an ear piercing, high-pitched wail, before going completely limp._

 _Adam remembered frantically, desperately running back and forth from Pa, to Ma, and to Baby Hoss, calling to them and shaking them. No one moved. The three of them lay together in a pile, their eyes round and staring, seeing nothing. Adam screamed again, until he was hoarse. Afterward a heavy, deafening silence fell. He turned away for a moment. When he turned back, they were gone. Ma, Pa, Hoss. Gone, as if they had never been. The people who had accompanied them to the way station were gone, too. He was all alone in a big, empty world . . . ._

 

“Papa?”

The sound of Benjy’s voice brought Adam back to present time and place, shocked and astonished by the how clear and vivid that dream remained in his memory. “Y-yes, Benjy?”

“What happened? When you woke from that dream?”

“Your grandpa took me in his arms and held me while I cried, like he always did. After I settled down, he asked me what the dream was about. I wouldn’t tell him. That night, however, he told me something I never forgot.”

“What was THAT, Papa?”

“He told me that most dreams are letters we write to ourselves,” Adam said. “Instead of writing those letters in words, we write them in pictures. The good dreams let us know that everything’s all right. The bad ones are trying to tell us that something needs to be fixed. He told me that the only way something can be fixed is to take a good, long, hard look at it, and see where it’s broken. That night, I told Pa about the dream, and I also told him about my fear of losing him. You know what?”

“What?”

“He DIDN’T laugh at me or get mad at me for being a sissy. He just sat there and held me in his arms for a very long time, the exact same way I’m holding you right now. He told me how much he loved me and that he and Hoss would never, ever leave without me.”

“Did you stop having the bad dreams?”

“Not right away. But when they came, they weren’t as scary as they had been,” Adam replied, “and as time passed they came less and less often, until they eventually stopped altogether.”

Benjy silently digested all that his father had told him. He desperately wanted to tell his father about the dreams, and of his feelings toward Dio. Yet, he held back, feeling oddly afraid. “Papa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“I . . . would it be ok if I read for a little while?” Benjy asked. “Just long enough to get sleepy . . . . ”

“Alright,” Adam quietly gave permission.

Benjy turned to the night table beside this bed, and, not finding his book there, began to search among his bedclothes. “ . . . uhhh, Papa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“I can’t find it.”

“You probably left it in the room upstairs,” Adam said quietly.

Benjy lifted his eyes and face slowly, very reluctantly toward the ceiling. “P-Papa? Would you . . . would you please g-get it for me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Perhaps you should just lie back and close your eyes,” Adam suggested.

“Please, Papa?” the boy begged, his fearful gaze still on the ceiling. “I . . . I’m afraid if I . . . if I close my eyes, that dream will c-come back . . . . ”

“It’ll take me a few minutes to go upstairs and get the book. Will you be all right . . . by yourself?” Adam asked, remembering his son’s terror at the prospect of being left alone just a short time before.

“I-I’ll be ok,” Benjy said.

“You’re sure?”

Benjy nodded.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, then,” Adam promised, as he rose to his feet.

 

“Adam?”

Mid-way between the mid and top landings, he froze upon hearing his name. Teresa emerged from the deep shadow less than a moment later. “Is everything all right?” he asked, mentally bracing himself.

“Fine,” Teresa replied, as he husband walked up the remaining steps.

“Dio?”

“She and Mother are both sound asleep, thank goodness,” Teresa replied, weary and with a measure of relief. “What about Benjy?”

“He woke up out of a nightmare . . . a real bad one, given the way he was screaming,” Adam replied. “He asked if he might read for a little while to help him back to sleep.”

“Perhaps if you got him to talk about that nightmare--- ”

“I asked him, Teresa, but he won’t,” Adam said curtly. “I’ve done everything I can think of to let him know that the both of us are willing to listen, that we won’t in anyway think the less of him, but I can’t force him to speak against his will.”

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Teresa immediately apologized.

“I’m sorry, too,” Adam said ruefully. “Right now, I’m feeling frustrated, a little angry, and worried sick, but I had no right to take all that out on you.”

“Did Benjy leave his book in the spare room he just vacated?”

Adam nodded.

“Why don’t you go on back downstairs?” Teresa suggested. “I’ll get his book and bring it down . . . . ”

“You needn’t trouble yourself, Sweetheart. I’m already upstairs.”

“No trouble,” Teresa firmly assured him. “I was just getting ready to come downstairs and look in on you and Benjy anyway . . . . ”

 

Teresa made her way back up the hall toward the small room Benjy had vacated, shivering against the cold in the hallway. She placed her flattened hand against the door, standing ajar, and gently pushed open it all the way. “Goodness! It’s . . . it’s FREEZING in here!” she murmured softly, as she entered the room. It was a deep, bone chilling cold, against which her nightgown, robe, and slippers offered scant protection. She saw Benjy’s book lying on the nightstand, where the boy had apparently left it before going to sleep earlier. She crossed the room, teeth chattering, and picked up the book.

Teresa started to leave the room, then paused. “I’d better check that window,” she decided. Walking over to the window, she saw immediately that it was closed and locked tight. Teresa turned again to leave. Before she had gone a half dozen steps, she froze mid-stride and gasped. Out of the corner of his eye, she caught the blurring movement of something luminous white.

“Hey! Where— ”

She quickly turned, but saw no one.

“Hmpf! Now MY imagination’s starting to run away with me,” Teresa grumbled under her breath, as she tucked the book up under her arm and turned to leave for the third time. She stopped at the threshold between the bedroom and the hallway, thinking for one brief insane moment, she had heard the sound of a boy’s laughter, fading in the distance. “Nah!” she muttered aloud, as he left the room.

A few moments later, a young boy with a pale face and brown curls, clad in a luminous white nightshirt emerged from the deepest shadows in the room and smiled.

 

“Mama?” Dio stood at the threshold between hall and the room given to her parents, knocking against the doorframe, though the door was standing wide open. “Mama, can . . . . ” She frowned, and exhaled a soft, disparaging sigh. “MAY I come in?”

“Of course,” Teresa immediately gave her daughter permission.

“Mama, I wanna go home,” Dio announced, as she entered the room, clad still in nightgown, and a pair of slippers. Her voice caught on the last word.

“You want to go home?!” Teresa echoed, incredulous. She deftly tucked her blouse in behind the waist band of her long, full skirt, then motioned for her young daughter to follow her over to the bed she and Adam shared.

Dio silently fell in step behind her mother and, upon reaching the bed, climbed up and settled in beside her.

Teresa was surprised to see that the little girl’s eyes blinked to excess and that her cheeks were wet. “What’s the matter?” she asked, as she gently pushed back a stray lock of dark hair that had fallen down into the child’s face. “You’ve been looking forward to visiting your grandpa for . . . well . . . for the better part of the last year, at least . . . and now you want to go home?”

Dio nodded.

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause I’m not having any fun!” Dio half sobbed. “Aunt Stacy hates me--- ”

“Sweetheart, your aunt doesn’t hate you,” Teresa tried to reassure the distraught little girl.

“Yes, she does.”

“If Aunt Stacy hated you, she wouldn’t have let you ride home with her on Blaze Face when you, Benjy, and Grandmother arrived in Virginia City,” Teresa very reasonably pointed out, “and she certainly wouldn’t have tucked you into bed that night.”

“Well, I hate HER!” Dio declared, her face darkening with anger.

“Why do you hate Aunt Stacy?” Teresa asked, astonished and completely bewildered.

“ ‘Cause she won’t give me anymore riding lessons.”

“Dio, we talked about that. Remember?” Teresa responded in a very quiet, yet very firm tone of voice.

“It’s not fair!” Dio argued. “Benjy made me look stupid!”

“Dio, it wasn’t very nice of Benjy to correct you in front of your aunt,” Teresa freely admitted, “but the things you said to your brother weren’t very nice either.”

“Benjy was mean first.”

“ . . . and two wrongs don’t make a right,” Teresa immediately pointed out.

“That’s NOT fair!” Dio hotly protested, the angry scowl on her face deepening. “It’s not! That makes it so Benjy can be as mean to me as he wants, but I can’t be mean back!”

“Dio, that’s not--- ”

“You ‘n Papa like HIM best!” she accused, her voice rising.

“Dolores Elizabeth Cartwright . . . you will NOT speak to me in that way,” Teresa sternly admonished her daughter.

“But, it’s TRUE, Mama . . . it’s TRUE!” the child plunged on recklessly. “You ‘n Papa DO like Benjy best, ‘cause you always let HIM do whatever he wants, but you won’t let ME.”

“That’s enough, Young Lady,” Teresa snapped, then closed her eyes and slowly, very slowly counted to ten in a valiant, desperate attempt to keep her rising temper in check. “Dio, it sounds to me like you need to calm down,” she said, laboring to keep her own rising temper in check. “After breakfast--- ”

“I hate him!”

“Dio!”

“I DO, Mama! I HATE Benjy . . . I hate that other mean boy . . . and I hate YOU!” With that she jumped down from the bed before Teresa could even think to stop her, and fled from the room weeping more from anger, frustration, and fear than from sadness.

For a time, Teresa remained where she was, unmoving, angry, yet stunned to the very core of being, her eyes glued to her daughter’s fast retreating back.

 

“Hold on there, Young ‘n!” Hoss exclaimed, startled, when Dio barreled into him less than a half dozen steps into the hall. He reached out and with gentle, yet firm grasp, took hold of her right forearm. “Where are YOU off t’ in such an all fired hurry?”

“LEMME GO!” Dio yelled, with tears streaming down her face like rivers. “LEMME GO!”

Hoss all of a sudden felt as if he had just taken hold of a cougar by its tail, as his niece struggled to free herself. “Easy there, Lil’ Gal . . . take---!” His exhortation ended in a loud bellow of pain, when Dio reared around and sunk her teeth deep into the tender flesh of his right hand. His fingers automatically uncurled, setting the child free.

With a strangled cry, Dio half ran, half stumbled the remaining way to her room. She ran inside and slammed the door shut behind her with all the strength and might she could summon.

“What in the world set that li’l gal off?” Hoss wondered aloud, perplexed and bewildered.

“I wish I knew,” Teresa replied, angry, yet miserable, uncertain, and feeling completely, and utterly helpless. Her eyes immediately dropped down to the telltale horseshoe shape, etched deep enough into his hand, to draw forth a thin trickle of blood. “Oh no,” she groaned. “Hoss, did Dio---?!”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” Hoss said ruefully. “My fault, Teresa. I was tryin’ t’ slow her down a li’l . . . . ”

“That’s no excuse for biting,” Teresa said. “As soon as she and I both calm down, I intend to have a long talk with her.”

“You ain’t gonna tan her . . . uhhh . . . are ya?”

“That is going depend on how well or badly she acts when we have that talk later on,” Teresa said firmly, then softened. “In the meantime, we’d better get you downstairs to Hop Sing so that bite can be properly treated.”

“Aww . . . no need t’ bother Hop Sing,” Hoss protested. “It’s just a li’l flesh wound . . . . ”

“Sometimes it’s the little flesh wounds that end up getting the most infected,” Teresa said as she took firm hold of his left hand. “Now let’s g’won downstairs and see Hop Sing.”

 

“ ‘Morning, Teresa . . . ‘morning, H--- ” Joe gasped upon seeing the red, angry looking horseshoe shaped wound on Hoss’ right hand. “Hol-leee---!? What in the world happened to YOU, Big Brother? You tangle with an angry bob cat or something this morning?”

“I’m afraid the angry bob cat in question was Dio,” Teresa said, wincing against the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. “Is Hop Sing up yet?”

“Yeah . . . . ” Joe replied.

“I sure hope t’ heaven he’s in a better mood than he was yesterday mornin’,” Hoss groused.

“Don’t count on it, Big Brother,” Joe said somberly. “Judging from the way he’s been slamming his pots ‘n pans around in the kitchen . . . . ” He sighed and sarcastically rolled his eyes heavenward. “ . . . I’d say he’s in a WORSE mood this morning.”

“Ah! Good morning, good morning, good morning!” Hop Sing flew out of the kitchen with a big, bright sunny smile on his face. He carried a large tray with pot, matching sugar and creamer, and enough clean, white mugs to accommodate the adults in the family.

Joe’s face turned white as a sheet. With a soft groan, he turned and looked over at Hoss, his face and eyes mirroring the horror and dread he felt within. His big brother’s face was an exact copy of his own.

“I thought you said Hop Sing was in a bad mood,” Teresa said, with a bewildered frown.

“He is,” Joe replied, making sure he kept a respectful distance between himself and the family’s chief cook.

“But he . . . he’s smiling!” Teresa pointed out, her frown deepening.

“So do crocodiles, Ma’am,” Joe returned, making it a point to lower his voice.

“Joseph Francis Cartwright, if I find out you’re pulling my leg . . . . ” The bewilderment in Teresa’s face underwent a lightening quick transformation to something significantly more threatening.

“Leastwise we got some coffee,” Hoss said, as he poured himself a generous mug full. He raised the mug nearly half way to his lips them froze. “What th---?!” he exclaimed, as his gaze settled on the nearly transparent golden amber liquid. “Doggone it, Hop Sing . . . this coffee’s so dang weak I can see right through it!” he complained.

“That NOT coffee!” Hop Sing snapped, smile and overdone good humor evaporating in an instant. “That TEA! All we got! Bad boy spill coffee and tea all over counter and floor. No more coffee left . . . and THAT last of tea!”

“Dadburn it!”

“Teresa . . . . ”

She started violently and whirled in her tracks, upon hearing her name.

“H-Hoss . . . Joe . . . Hop Sing . . . . ”

It was Adam. He stood in the open doorway to the downstairs bedroom, leaning heavily against the frame. His face was alarmingly pale and his breathing ragged and shallow.

“Help . . . I . . . I need your h--- ” He groaned softly, then collapsed like a marionette whose strings had just been cut.

“ADAM!” Teresa cried, pushing her way past Joe first, then Hop Sing. She tore across the room with Hoss following close at her heels. Upon reaching her husband, she half fell, half collapsed on her knees beside him. “H-How . . . he’s freezing!” she exclaimed when she touched him.

“This is nuts!” Joe declared. “It’s the middle of summer for cryin’ out loud.”

“Benjy!” Teresa gasped, as she turned and peered into the room.

“I’ll get him,” Joe volunteered. “The both of ya g’won . . . get Adam over to the settee and get him warmed up.”

 

Joe entered the downstairs bedroom and found, much to his amazement, that the temperature was so cold, he could see his own breath. He saw his nephew lying in the middle of the bed, unmoving, bundled under at least three winter blankets and a quilt. Joe started toward the night table, rubbing his forearms vigorously for warmth. He found himself pausing occasionally, and glancing back over his shoulder.

 _Go away._

Joe immediately paused, mid-stride, his body tense, his eyes and ears alert for any sound, any kind of movement, no matter how slight.

 _I SAID go away._

Joe turned and looked over at his nephew. He knew immediately that the boy hadn’t even moved, let alone spoken aloud.

 _Get out!_

Suddenly Joe felt a small, rock hard fist sucker punch him hard in the solar plexus. He doubled over, unable to get his breath. Before he realized what was happening, a pair of invisible hands grabbed two fists full of his hair and yanked him forward, bringing him down onto his knees with a dull thud. Tears stung Joe’s eyes. He would have cried out, had he sufficient breath to do so.

 _I HATE you. I HATE your stinkin’ guts! Get out._

Fists, hundreds of child sized fists, began to rain down heavily on his back, one after the other after the other in rapid succession. Joe tried to rise, only to be brought down to his knees again, by a hard blow to the head. He lowered his head pressing his chin tight his chest, then instinctively raised his left arm to shield his face. Using two legs and one arm, he managed to crawl another half dozen steps, while his invisible assailant continued to rain blows down on his back shoulders and neck. His last conscious memory was of stumbling and the floor rising up fast and furious to meet him.

 

“Pa? I think he’s coming around.”

“Joseph?”

His eyes lids flickered, then parted slightly. He winced against the bright sunlight pouring into his room, and squeezed his eyes shut once again.

“Stacy, would you please pull the curtains closed?”

“Sure, Pa.”

He heard the soft scraping sound of a chair being pushed back and the sound of his sister’s quiet footfalls moving across the room.

“Joe? You still with us, Boy?”

“H-Here, Pa . . . . ” He groaned weakly, his voice sounding many miles distant. He opened his eyes again, slowly. Very slowly. The anxious faces of his father and sister swam before his eyes.

“Glad to have you back, Grandpa,” Stacy greeted him with a weary, anxious smile.

“How do you feel, Son?” Ben asked anxiously.

“I got one rip roarin’ headache, n’ I feel like I just been trampled over by a hundred cattle stampedes . . . one right after the other,” Joe groaned. “Wha’ happened?”

“We’re hoping YOU could tell US,” Stacy said anxiously.

“Hoss told me you’d gone into the bedroom downstairs to get Benjy,” Ben explained. “He began to wonder what was taking you so long, and went back to investigate. He found you lying in the middle of the room, out cold.”

Suddenly, everything came back in a rushing flood. “Adam! Pa, is he--- . . . how is he---?!”

“He’s conscious, Joe,” Ben replied. “He came to within a few minutes after Hoss, Teresa, and Hop Sing got him settled on the settee. Doctor Martin’s looking after him right now.”

“What about Benjy?” Joe snapped out the question. “Pa, we’ve gotta get him outta that room!” He threw aside his bedclothes, and started to sit up.

“Joe?! Grandpa, what in the heck do ya think you’re doing?!” Stacy demanded, indignant yet very fearful. She reached out and caught hold of his forearm.

Joe easily shook her off. “Gotta get Benjy,” he muttered as he quickly rose from lying prone to sitting. He groaned softly and squeezed his eyes tight shut when the room, his father, and sister began to pulsate and spin with nauseating intensity.

“Let that be a good lesson for ya, Young Man,” Ben sternly admonished his youngest son, with voice filled with anxiety and exasperation. He slipped his arm around Joe’s shoulders, and holding tight, eased him back down onto the bed.

“Grandpa?” Stacy softly ventured as she helped their father pull the covers back up over Joe.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Benjy uhhh . . . didn’t . . . . ?!”

Joe started to shake his head, then thought better of it. “No, Kid. Not our Benjy.”

Stacy exhaled a long, soft sigh of relief.

“Where’s OUR Benjy now?” Joe demanded.

“Teresa and Hop Sing moved him upstairs to Adam’s old room,” Ben replied, as he deftly tucked his son back in. “It’s the warmest room in the house and with him there, she can keep an eye on him and Adam.”

“How’s Benjy doin’?” Joe asked.

“I don’t want you to worry yourself one bit about Benjy, Young Man,” Ben replied a little too quickly in that brisk tone of voice not particularly inviting to further questions regarding the subject under discussion. “He’s gonna be just fine.”

“Pa . . . . ”

“Yes, Son?”

“Tell Teresa . . . ‘n Adam, too! Tell ‘em to keep a real close eye on Benjy,” Joe said. “You’ve gotta tell ‘em, Pa . . . . ”

“Joe, you don’t need to worry yourself about that,” Ben gently admonished his youngest boy, while smoothing back that unruly lock of hair that was forever falling down in the middle of his face. “Teresa’s not let either one of ‘em out of her sight.”

“Pa . . . . ” Joe begged.

“Never . . . not even in my wildest of dreams, would I ever have imagined that YOU’D grow up to be such a worry wart,” Ben remarked, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

“I come by it honestly,” Joe quipped, unable to resist, despite his growing concern for his young nephew. The amused grin on his face quickly faded. “Pa . . . that room downstairs . . . it was cold in there . . . so cold, I . . . I could see my breath!”

“Just like it was in the barn day before yesterday,” Stacy said very slowly, her eyes round with a growing apprehension.

“Y-yeah . . . just like it was in the barn,” Joe affirmed. “When I went t’ get Benjy? I heard someone . . . sounded like a kid, Pa . . . a little older ‘n Benjy . . . OUR Benjy . . . but not much. Anyway--- ”

“Joe, you don’t have to talk about this right now,” Ben said, noting with apprehension that his son seemed to be growing more agitated. “It might be better if you just rest--- ”

“No, Pa . . . I gotta tell ya,” Joe insisted. “You . . . y-you gotta lemme tell ya.”

“Grandpa . . . was it that new friend of Benjy’s?” Stacy asked, frowning. “Is HE the one who . . . who . . . . ”

“I dunno, Kiddo . . . I honestly dunno,” Joe groaned, “but I . . . I just remembered somethin’ ELSE . . . . ”

“What’s that, Son?” Ben asked.

“Benjy’s room . . . the room he asked for upstairs? It was MY old room, Pa . . . back when I was Benjy’s age . . . that was MY room.”

Before Ben could question Joe further about this peculiar train of thought, the door opened and Paul Martin entered, with black bag firmly in hand. His normally straight, regal posture was slightly stooped, with shoulders sagging. “I’ve checked Adam and his son over,” the sawbones said wearily. “Now it’s YOUR turn, Joe.”

Stacy immediately leapt to her feet. “I guess I’d better leave so you can examine Grandpa properly,” she said, as she started for the door.

Ben made himself a mental note to pursue the line of conversation, interrupted by Doctor Martin’s entrance, as soon as he could possibly manage to do so, then rose from his place on the edge of Joe’s bed to allow the doctor access.

 

“Whoever it was . . . he worked you over real good, Joe, no question about that,” Paul said grimly, upon completion of his examination. “Lots of bruises, and a few minor cuts, which will all heal in time. That one place on your wrist . . . . ” he shook his head in complete bewilderment, “ . . . looks like your assailant actually BIT you. However . . . . ”

“However WHAT, Paul?” Ben queried anxiously.

“That lump on the back of Joe’s head is cause for concern. Joe?”

“Yeah, Doc?”

“Any headaches? Dizziness?”

“My head d-doesn’t hurt any more ‘n the rest of me,” Joe replied slowly. “I DO get a b-bit dizzy . . . if I move too fast.”

“Any nausea or vomiting?”

“I kinda felt like I was gonna throw up when I . . . I think when I came to a while ago, but it’s passed.”

“That being the case, Young Man, my orders are bed rest for the remainder of the day,” Paul Martin said very sternly. “If you aren’t experiencing any dizziness come tomorrow, you may get up and go downstairs for meals, or to sit and read, but you take things very easy for the rest of the week.”

“C-Can I . . . can I still work on b-bustin’ that bronc I’ve been workin’ on? That b-big black we n-named H-Holy Terror?”

Paul Martin opened his mouth intending to read Joe Cartwright the proverbial riot act, until he saw the amused smile tugging at the corner of his patient’s mouth. “You smart mouthed young pup!” he growled, the twinkle in his eyes giving lie to the ferocious glower on his face. “In any case, stiff ‘n sore as you’ll be tomorrow, I doubt seriously you’ll be wanting to move around very much, let alone bust any broncs.”

The doctor closed his black bag, then rose. Ben followed suit. “Rest, Young Man, plenty of rest!” Paul said, favoring the youngest Cartwright son with a stern, almost baleful eye. He then turned his attention back to Ben. “Would you mind seeing me out?”

“Sure thing, Paul. I’ll send Stacy back in to--- ”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“Much as I enjoy The Kid’s company . . . most o’ the time anyway . . . I think I’d kinda like t’ take a nap for a while . . . . ” He glanced over at the doctor. “Izzat ok?”

“Heaven knows sleep’s probably the best thing for you,” Paul replied. “I think it’ll be alright for you to nap, Joe, as long as someone wakes you up every couple of hours, at least until supper time.”

“I’ll look in on you later, Son,” Ben promised, before following the doctor out into the hall.

“Keep him to a soft diet for the remainder of the day, and see that he gets plenty of liquids,” Paul instructed as they walked toward the stairs. “He can resume his normal diet tomorrow, as long as he’s not having problems with nausea or upset stomach.”

“He’ll be alright?” Ben asked anxiously.

“I expect him to make a full and complete recovery, Ben, as long as he rests and follows doctor’s orders. He’ll be plenty stiff and sore for the next few days, but that’s par for the course. You can send Stacy or Hoss for me if any problems develop. Otherwise, I’ll be by at the beginning of next week to check up on him.”

“Paul . . . . ” Ben stopped walking, and gazed earnestly into the face of his physician and very good friend. “What about Adam and Benjy?”

“Adam’s going to be fine, Ben. If he rests and takes things nice ‘n easy today, he should be back to normal physically by tomorrow morning,” Paul replied.

“Were you able to figure out what was wrong with him in the first place?” Ben anxiously pressed.

Paul reluctantly shook his head. “If this were the dead of winter, I’d have said that Adam was suffering from mild hypothermia, no question about it,” the doctor replied. “But, it’s the middle of SUMMER. Unless he’s gone up into the mountains where the snow remains all year ‘round . . . . ”

“He hasn’t,” Ben said grimly.

“I just plain don’t know WHAT to make of it,” Paul candidly admitted.

For a moment, Ben considered telling the sawbones about the cold spots out in the barn, and in the small spare room Benjy had originally chosen for himself the day he, his sister, and grandmother had arrived; the same small room that had once been Joe’s. “In addition to seeing that Adam gets plenty of rest and takes things easy, we’ll see that he’s kept warm,” Ben promised, deciding that the better part of wisdom might be in keeping those matters to himself. “What about Benjy?”

“Ben, it’s the damndest thing!” Paul exclaimed, shaking his head in utter bewilderment. “Benjy’s exhibiting nearly all of the symptoms of an advanced case of Saint Anthony’s Fire, except for the rash, the high fever, and gangrene in the extremities.”

“WHAT?!”

Paul nodded mutely.

“Should I ask Hop Sing to get rid of all our flour and buy new?”

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt, Ben,” Paul replied, “though in all likelihood, it’s probably unnecessary.”

“Oh?”

“That’s the other strange thing about all this,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “As advanced as Benjy’s symptoms are, every last one of YOU should be down with it. Yet here the rest of you are, completely free of symptoms, by all appearances. He hasn’t been eating anything made from flour from anyplace other than Hop Sing’s kitchen, has he?”

“No, I’m reasonably sure of that.”

“When did he arrive in Virginia City?”

“A few days ago . . . in the afternoon.”

“That means even if the flour in Hop Sing’s kitchen WAS contaminated, your grandson hasn’t been here long enough for his symptoms to have become so far advanced,” Paul said soberly. “ and, as I just said, you, Hoss, Joe, Stacy, Hop Sing . . . even Adam and Teresa would be much sicker than young Benjy.”

“Do you have an explanation?” Ben demanded.

“I have a theory . . . . ”

“And that is?”

“Ben, I believe the boy’s symptoms may be hysterical in nature.”

“Hysterical?!” Ben echoed, incredulous.

Paul nodded.

“Is there anything you can do, Paul?” Ben anxiously pressed. “Anything at all?”

“The key to his cure is to discover what’s troubling him emotionally,” Paul replied. “I’ve left instructions with Teresa and Hop Sing with regard to treating his symptoms . . . and for keeping the boy comfortable. The rest . . . . ” He again shrugged helplessly.

“Isn’t there anything else you can do for the boy?”

Paul dolefully shook his head. “I do very well in treating PHYSICAL ailments and injuries, Ben,” he said soberly. “But matters of the mind, are beyond my meager skill, I’m afraid. For that you need to consult with a psychologist . . . or perhaps a clergyman.”

 

“Hey, Baby Brother.”

Joe glanced up upon hearing the sound of his oldest brother’s voice. Adam stood in the open door leaning heavily against the doorjamb with arms folded across his chest. Though a small measure of color had returned to his cheeks, his face, by and large, remained the color of chalk. Flesh and muscle hung from his bones the same way as just washed laundry hangs limp from a clothes line on a day without wind or even the slightest breeze.

“Hey yourself, Oldest Brother,” Joe returned the greeting with a wan smile. “Checkin’ up on me?”

“Yeah,” Adam replied as he unfolded his arms and ambled slowly into the room. “I told Pa I’d wake you up about an hour before dinner.”

“Dinner?!” Joe echoed, incredulous. “Already?”

“Um hmm!” Adam grunted. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Help yourself. I WAS getting a bit lonesome.”

Adam nodded his thanks, as he pulled the nearest chair over to the side of Joe’s bed and sat down. “How are you feeling?”

“I still hurt all over, though my head doesn’t hurt as much as it did after the doc got through with all his poking and prodding,” Joe replied with a grimace. “How about YOU? To be blunt, Adam, you look death warmed over.”

“I’ll survive.”

“How’re the kids faring?”

“Dio’s been very quiet and clingy . . . mostly to Teresa and me,” Adam sighed. “As for Benjy . . . no change since early this morning.”

“What did Doc Martin say?”

Adam gave his youngest brother the details of Doctor Martin’s prognosis concerning Benjy.

“Saint Anthony’s fire?!” Joe echoed, incredulous. “Doesn’t that come from eating bad rye?”

Adam nodded.

“Where do you suppose he got it?”

“Therein lies the rub, Little Brother,” Adam sighed and shrugged helplessly. “He couldn’t have eaten it HERE. Had that been the case, the lot of US . . . including Teresa and me since we arrived here six weeks before the kids . . . we’d all be down sick . . . if not DEAD.”

“How about at one of the way stations between here and Sacramento?” Joe asked.

“No.” Adam shook his head. “Not enough time for Benjy to have developed the advanced symptoms he’s manifesting. Furthermore, Dolores . . . Mrs. di Cordova . . . and Dio would also be sick. Doctor Martin’s of the opinion that Benjy’s illness is more hysterical than physical.”

“Hysterical?! Like . . . maybe he’s . . . he’s faking it, or something?” Joe asked with a puzzled frown.

“Not in the sense of malingering,” Adam replied. “More in the sense of something’s troubling the boy deeply, and it’s manifesting itself in the form of symptoms of advanced Saint Anthony’s fire, except for the rash and gangrene in the extremities.”

“I wonder why Saint Anthony’s fire?” Joe wondered aloud.

“I have no idea, Little Brother,” Adam said, his voice filled with pain and sadness. “I wish to God I did.” He fell silent for a long moment, then added, as an afterthought, “There was an outbreak once . . . here . . . in Virginia City.”

“There was?” Joe queried, mildly surprised.

Adam nodded.

“When was this?”

“Many years ago, Little Brother, before you were born,” Adam replied. “I was about Benjy’s age at the time . . . that would’ve put Hoss around two years younger than Dio. Most of those stricken were children, including Hoss and me.”

“Really!”

Again, Adam nodded.

“I never knew,” Joe said slowly.

“To be up front and honest, Joe, I’d all but forgotten until Doctor Martin made mention of it last night, after he got through examining Benjy,” Adam said. He, then, shared with Joe all that the family physician remembered of that time. “The hardest hit was our nearest neighbors. There were six kids in the family . . . all of them died.”

“All six?!” Joe echoed, incredulous. “My God . . . their poor parents,” he murmured softly, shaking his head back and forth very slowly. “You said they were our nearest neighbors?”

“Yes. Their farm was right here,” Adam replied.

“Here? Where our house is?!”

“Yes, though if memory serves, I think their house was where the barn is now,” Adam said.

“How well did YOU know them?” Joe asked.

“I remember Pa helping them out sometimes, but I don’t remember very much about them . . . apart from the fact that they lived here, and there were six children in the family,” Adam replied. “I can’t even recall their names.”

“Any idea what happened to the parents . . . AFTER the children died?” Joe asked.

“They sold their farm to Pa . . . obviously,” Adam replied. “I remember hearing that they pulled up stakes soon after and moved on, but I have no idea where they went, or what’s become of them since.”

Benjy’s illness . . . the cold in the barn, the downstairs bedroom, and the spare room, Benjy had chosen to be his home away from home . . . the story Adam had just told him . . . and a series of frightening incidents that had centered around him roughly thirteen years ago . . . .

“Puzzle pieces,” Joe murmured softly, upon coming to the sudden realization all of those incidents were pieces to a big jigsaw puzzle, its picture for the most part, completely hidden. Though he couldn’t begin to explain the how or why, he also knew beyond any doubt whatsoever that he had to somehow find all the missing pieces and put the entire puzzle together. Benjy Cartwright’s life depended on it.

But where to begin?

There was only one person he knew of, who just might be able to at the very least, point him in the right direction.

“Mrs. Wilkens,” Joe said very softly.

“Sorry, Joe . . . did you just say something?”

Joe started, having forgotten for the moment that his oldest brother was still in the room. “Yes! I, uhhh . . . just wanted to, umm, make sure that you’d just said that . . . uhhh . . . that dinner’s gonna be ready in another hour or so . . . . ”

Adam very slowly folded his arms across his chest and favored his youngest brother with a jaundiced glare, unable to quite shake the feeling that there was some sort of secret mischief afoot.

“Well?” Joe pressed. “Did you, or didn’t you?”

“Yes, Joe, I did,” Adam replied. “Why do you ask?” The scowl on his face intensified.

Joe yawned again, and gingerly stretched for extra and special measure. “Nothin’, Adam,” he replied, yawning again. “I’m feelin’ kinda sleepy again, is all, and . . . though I DO enjoy your company . . . especially now that you ‘n I aren’t kids anymore . . . I think I’d like to nap a little before I, ummm . . . come down for dinner?”

“If memory serves, Little Brother, the doctor ordered YOU to remain in bed for the rest of the day,” Adam sternly reminded the impish scallywag now inhabiting the body and soul of a grown man. “I’m sure Hop Sing will be bringing up a tray.”

“Yes, PA!” Joe responded with a disparaging sigh and a sarcastic roll of the eyes heavenward.

“Granted you aren’t a kid anymore, like you just said, but don’t think for one minute you’re to old to be taken out to the barn for a good lesson from the board of education applied to YOUR seat of learning, Buddy,” Adam countered, “by Pa or ME.”

Joe chortled, then winced against pain that seemed to shoot right through his head. “I’ll h-have YOU know, Adam Stoddard Cartwright, that Marie’s li’l boy here doesn’t pay too much mind to idle threats,” he retorted, smiling in the midst of his sudden misery.

“ . . . and I’ll have YOU know, Joseph Francis, that Elizabeth’s BIG boy doesn’t make threats,” Adam immediately returned. “HE makes PROMISES . . . and keeps every last one of ‘em.”

Joe very pointedly yawned yet again. “G’night, Adam,” he murmured, as he turned his back and pulled the covers up over his head.

Adam rose from the chair beside his brother’s bed. “Good night, Joe. You just remember what I said.”

 

The minute Joe heard his bedroom door latch, he threw aside the covers and sat up. Slowly. Very, very, VERY slowly. He sat on the edge of his bed, waiting. One minute passed, then two. He exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief, grateful that he experienced no lightheadedness or dizziness, then rose very slowly to his feet. Once again, Joe waited, resting his hand lightly against the headboard. He experienced some lightheadedness, along with a curious buzzing sound in his ears, but no dizziness. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then cautiously crossed the room toward his dresser and wardrobe.

His sharp ears picked up the sounds of two voices, women’s voices, raised in anger, as he very gingerly pulled his nightshirt up and over his head. He recognized them almost immediately as his sister-in-law and her mother. A moment later, Adam’s voice entered the fray.

As he dressed himself, Joe offered a silent, deeply heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude that row between Adam, Teresa, and Mrs. di Cordova showed no apparent sign of abating anytime soon. At the rate things seemed to be escalating, the shouting match should continue for at least another half an hour, allowing him ample time to finish dressing, saddle Cochise, and be off.

“ . . . assuming Pa and Hoss don’t come running up here to break it up,” Joe muttered very softly under his breath. “Please,” he silently beseeched any and all who might be listening, “please . . . let that not be so!”

Joe quickly slipped on a pair of heavy socks, and after grabbing his boots from their place next to his bed up against the wall, he silently made his way across the room to the door.

 

“This is nonsense! Complete and utter superstitious NONSENSE!” Teresa fumed, giving vent to all of her fears and anxious concerns about Benjy and Dio, and her own helpless, angry frustration at not being able to do anything to change the dire situation facing them all.

“There are things out there, Teresa,” Dolores countered, her own face dark with anger and grief. “Things not easily explained by so-called science, logic, and intellect.”

“Mother . . . if anything, Benjy needs to be in a HOSPITAL . . . not lying on a hard pew in a church.”

“He will be safer on hallowed ground.”

“Look! I’ve said it before . . . I’ll say it again. I have no objections to you remaining at his side lighting candles and saying prayers,” Teresa said through clenched teeth, as she labored valiantly to keep her ire firmly in check. “Although I personally have serious doubts as to the efficacy of such things, I’ve ALSO allowed you to hang your crucifix above Benjy’s head, place that rosary in his hands, and set up your Saint Anthony statue. But, I draw the line at removing Benjy from the comfort of his bed, taking him, sick as he is, over bumpy dirt roads all the way to Virginia City, just so he can sleep on a hard pew in a church not heated— ”

“This is the middle of the summer!”

“Mother, this is NOT Sacramento! This is NEVADA . . . high up in the Sierra Nevada mountains! The nights tend to be chilly . . . much chillier than Benjy has been used to, having lived in Sacramento all his life.”

“Dolores, I have to agree with Teresa on that point,” Adam said firmly. “Benjy WILL be a lot more comfortable here.”

“BUT, BENJY’S LIFE IS IN DANGER HERE!” Dolores raged at both her daughter and son-in-law. “CAN’T THE TWO OF YOU SEE THAT?!”

“Dolores, Teresa is absolutely right about the climate and the bumpy dirt roads between here and Virginia City,” Adam argued. “Moving him would endanger his life more than simply keeping him here.”

Joe, meanwhile, paused and placed his ear up flush against the still closed door to his bedroom.

“All right! Since the two of you are so dead set against moving the boy, can I AT LEAST summon a priest here to exorcize the evil spirit that’s come into this house?” Dolores pressed.

“Evil spirit?!” Teresa echoed, unable to quite believe the words that had just issued from her mother’s mouth. “Mother, this is . . . is . . . it’s beyond enough!”

“Dolores . . . Teresa . . . we COULD ask Father Rutherford to come and pray for Benjy,” Adam quietly suggested. “He and Pa have been very good friends for many years now, and— ”

“Adam, I have no objection to this Father Rutherford or any other man of the cloth coming out to say a few prayers, but I will NOT subject our son to . . . to the CRUELTY of some stupid, superstitious . . . . ”

“Don’t think he’ll ever quite be the peacemaker HOSS is, but I gotta give ol’ Adam credit for trying,” Joe mused silently, smiling despite his body’s acutely painful protest against being up and about so soon. He wrapped his fingers loosely around the doorknob and turned it very slowly, then cracked the door open, just enough for him to see without being seen.

Mrs. di Cordova, Adam, and Teresa stood clustered together at the very end of the hall. His brother and sister-in-law had their backs toward him, and, although Mrs. di Cordova stood directly facing her daughter and son-in-law, the ferocious look on her face told Joe she was likely too wrapped up in the escalating row to notice him sneaking by.

Grasping his boots tightly in his right hand, Joe opened his bedroom door wider with his left and stole noiselessly across the threshold into the hall. Once there, he quickly moved into the deepest shadows and flattened himself tight against the wall, and waited.

“We’ve tried with doctors and medicine!” Dolores di Cordova raged at the other end of the hall. “Your Doctor Martin himself said there was nothing he could do. HE even suggested calling in a clergyman. I heard him.”

“He ALSO said Benjy’s symptoms were emotional . . . psychological in nature, NOT the result of evil spirits,” Teresa shot right back.

“I keep telling you, Teresa . . . there are things out there . . . things about which so called medical science is completely IGNORANT!”

“Mother, I don’t understand this!” Teresa rounded furiously on her mother. “You’re a very smart, very intelligent woman. How can you possibly stand there and tell me that evil spirits are the cause of Benjy’s illness?!”

“Teresa, she’s desperate.”

“Are you taking HER side, Adam?”

More than satisfied that the trio down at the other end of the hall were far too engrossed in their argument to notice much else, Joe inched his way in the opposite direction, moving stealthily toward the stairs with his back flush against the wall, keeping himself well within the deep shadows. Tender, bruised muscles, stiffened by injury and inactivity made their protests painfully clear with every move he made. Several times, Joe had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

“Ma?”

Joe froze. That was Dio. He held his breath and watched with mounting dread as the doorknob turned on the closed door of her room, positioned almost directly across the hall.

“Ma! Pa! Grandma!” she sobbed as she bolted from the room and ran down the hall toward her parents and grandmother. “Stop it! Please stop it!”

Thankfully Dio never spared so much as a passing glance in Joe’s direction. He slowly exhaled that breath he had been holding, keeping his eyes trained on the three adults at the end of the hall.

“Please . . . don’t yell anymore! You’re scaring me!”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” Teresa immediately apologized.

“I am, too, Princess,” Adam murmured contritely.

“I’m sorry, too, Dio.” That was Mrs. di Cordova.

“All right,” Teresa sighed wearily. “Mother, why don’t you ask Ben to send someone into town and ask Father Rutherford to come. NOT to perform an exorcism, but to pray with Benjy . . . and . . . and maybe . . . with the rest of us, too.”

“Teresa . . . I could go--- ”

“Adam . . . I’m not so sure you SHOULD,” Teresa immediately protested. “You’re STILL looking a bit peaked, and--- ”

“I’ll be fine, Sweetheart, honest! I will,” Adam said earnestly. “I’m feeling a lot better now than I did earlier this morning, and I promise you that tomorrow, I’ll rest, and take things very easy to make up for today.”

“I’M going with you, Adam!” Dolores declared with an emphatic nod of her head.

“Muuhhh-ther . . . . ” Teresa groaned.

“Dolores,” Adam said very quickly the instant he saw his mother-in-law open her mouth to make response, “it’s bound to get chilly before we get back. Why don’t you get your shawl and wait for me downstairs?”

“All right, Adam,” Dolores agreed stiffly. She, then, abruptly turned heel, and strode briskly back up the hall toward the spare room she had moved into the night before last, with back stiffly erect and fingers drawn together to form a pair of tight, rock hard fists.

“Adam--- ” Teresa growled as she turned her full attention to her husband, her dark eyes filled with anger.

“It’ll be all right, Sweetheart,” Adam said in a gentle yet very firm tone of voice.

“No, it WON’T!” Teresa argued. “Not, if she goes flouncing into the priest’s office yammering on and on about evil spirits---!!”

“It won’t matter if she DOES,” Adam said in a very firm, yet calm tone of voice. “Father Brendan has been a very good friend of the family since Joe was a baby. Yes . . . he IS very much a man of faith, but he’s also very down to earth, with both feet planted firmly on the ground. He’s a learned man, who has a great deal of respect for and, I dare say, is fascinated by what we’ve learned and are learning in the fields of medicine and science.”

“I’m very relieved to hear this Father Brendan ISN’T a superstitious fanatic like the one who---!!” She angrily broke off, unable to continue.

“No, Sweetheart,” Adam hastened to reassure her. “Father Brendan is nothing like that one . . . nothing at all!”

“Even so, I’d still rather you didn’t take Mother with you,” Teresa insisted.

“We’re ALL on edge right now,” Adam kindly explained. “Losing our tempers . . . fighting amongst ourselves, as we’ve been doing over the last couple of days isn’t going to help or change our situation . . . in fact, I’M inclined to think doing so might tend to exacerbate things.”

“You’re right, Adam,” Teresa had to admit.

“I want YOU to know that I don’t believe for one minute Dolores saw an evil spirit last night,” Adam continued. “I believe the intruder was someone of flesh and blood, like Pa said. However, we can’t deny that Dolores was badly frightened.”

“I know she was,” Teresa said with a weary sigh. “I’ve never . . . not in my entire life EVER heard Mother scream like that . . . and I hope I never do again.”

“I’M thinking it might do her some good to get out and away from the house for a little while,” Adam continued.

“Perhaps you’re right, Adam,” Teresa reluctantly allowed, “and speaking for myself, I know I need to calm down, especially after that set-to between Mother and me just now. I probably stand a better chance of doing that if she’s not around for a little while.”

“ . . . and some time away from the house . . . away from the things going on here might enable her to see things in a different light, and maybe put things in proper perspective.” Adam added.

“I’m still concerned about YOU making that trip all the way into town, given the shape you were in earlier,” Teresa said with an anxious frown.

“I’ll be very careful, Teresa,” Adam promised.

“You’d better be,” Teresa said briskly, “and I think you’d better take your jacket. Like you told Mother, it’ll be getting chilly before you start back.”

“Yes, Mother,” Adam quipped with a naughty, mischievous grin. “It’s hanging downstairs by the front door. I’ll grab it on my way out.” He then turned his attention to his young daughter. “Dio?”

“Yes, Pa?”

“I thought I saw Aunt Stacy down by the corral,” Adam said. “If you and I go down together, I have a feeling, between the two of us, we just might be able to talk her into giving you another riding lesson.”

“Doggone it, Adam! So help me, the minute I start feeling better, I’m gonna pound you good!“ Joe vowed silently, knowing that he would, in all likelihood, be found the minute Adam and Dio passed by.

Dio, however, burst into tears, much to the surprise of her father and uncle. “P-Pa? I . . . I d-don’t wanna go anywhere n-near that horrible ol’ b-b-barn, n-not ever . . . ever AGAIN!” she sobbed, burying her face against her father’s abdomen. “Please . . . c-can I . . . can I just stay here . . . w-with Ma ‘n B-Benjy? Pretty please?!”

Adam looked over at his wife.

Teresa nodded.

“Yes, you may, Princess,” Adam said, placing a comforting arm around his daughter’s shoulders, “but, you’ll have to be very quiet and do what your mother tells you.”

“I will, Pa. I will, I promise.”

Wave upon wave of relief washed over Joe’s entire being as Adam and Dio followed Teresa into the room at the end of the hall, closing the door behind them, leaving him feeling giddy and lightheaded. He paused for a moment, bending over at the waist, hoping against hope that the act of bringing his head down to the same level as his heart would relieve him of the lightheadedness. A moment later, Joe very slowly erected himself, and continued toward the steps, grateful that his lightheadedness had passed so quickly.

After what seemed a dreadful eternity of moving along by stealth, keeping himself hidden within the deep shadows, Joe finally reached the top of the stairs. He flattened himself once more against the wall and scanned the great room below, all the while training his ears to the closed door at the far end of the hall. There, much to his dismay, he saw his father seated behind his desk, looking over a stack of unopened mail.

“Dang! Wouldn’t you know it!” Joe silently groaned. For one brief insane moment, he seriously contemplated a quick retreat back to his room and leaving the house by the same route he used as a teenager to sneak out. “Forget it, Joseph Francis,” he silently admonished himself. “You’d be hard pressed to go that route nowadays, even if you were in tip top shape.”

Ben suddenly glanced up. “Adam?”

Joe pressed so hard against the wall, he half feared he was going to push right through it.

“Adam? Teresa?” Ben rose, with that penetrating gaze of his still trained in the general direction of the stairs. “Is . . . is someone there?”

Joe held his breath and pressed himself harder against the wall. For an interminable, heart stopping moment, his father just stood there, peering into the darkness at the top of the steps with a quizzical look on his face. Then, finally, Ben shrugged and sat back down at his desk.

“Oh great!” Joe groused in miserable silence. “How am I EVER gonna get past ol’ Eagle Eye Cartwright down there?”

Down below, Ben reached for the coffee mug at his elbow and finished what remained. “HOP SING?” he called out, rising. “IS THERE ANYMORE TEA?”

“NO MORE TEA, MISTER CARTWRIGHT,” Hop Sing yelled back from the dining room. “ALL GONE. REMEMBER? BAD BOY THROW ALL OVER HOP SING KITCHEN FLOOR. YOU JUST DRINK LITTLE BIT LEFT WHEN HE GET THROUGH.”

Ben sighed. Closing his eyes, he reached up and gently massaged the bridge of his nose for a moment. “HOP SING, WHAT DO WE HAVE?”

“LITTLE BIT OF MILK,” Hop Sing yelled back. “VERY, VERY LITTLE BIT. SAVE FOR CHILDREN. ALSO HAVE WATER. HOP SING FIX.”

“DON’T TROUBLE YOURSELF,” Ben said as he rose, and moved from around the desk. “I’LL FIX IT. I NEED TO GET UP AND STRETCH MY LEGS A BIT ANYWAY!”

Joe watched as Ben walked from the desk, back toward the dining room, hardly able to believe that sudden stroke of good luck. The minute his father disappeared into the dining room, he tore down the stairs, with heart thudding against his chest like a stampeding herd of frightened cattle. Every muscle, every joint in his body lodged excruciating complaints against this action literally every step of the way. The minute he reached the first floor, Joe bit his lip against the pain and bolted toward the front door, pausing to shift his boots over to his left hand, and snatch up hat, gun belt, and green jacket in his right.

 

“ . . . an’ just where do you think YOU’RE goin’, Li’l Brother?” Hoss demanded as Joe half stumbled, half fell through the front door onto the porch.

Joe screamed and jumped backward. His boots and gun belt dropped from his hands, and clattered noisily on the wood porch. Clutching one of the porch columns for support, he looked up and saw his big brother and sister standing on the porch steps, with arms folded across their chests, glaring darkly in his general direction.

“Geeze-loo-weeze! What’re the two of ya tryin’ to do?! Scare me outta ten years’ growth?” Joe demanded, matching their glares with a murderous one of his own.

“Come on, Li’l Brother, you belong back upstairs in bed,” Hoss said firmly. He reached out to gently take his younger brother by the elbow.

“Willya keep your voice DOWN?!” Joe hissed, moving well away from Hoss’ outstretched arm. “Pa might hear you.”

“Pa probably heard you scream already,” Stacy pointed out. “In fact, I think everyone within ten miles of here heard you scream.”

“Let’s get you back inside,” Hoss said in a kindlier tone. “Maybe, with a li’l luck, we can getcha back upstairs ‘n in bed ‘fore Pa’s any the wiser.”

“I can’t.” Joe gritted his teeth, then gingerly leaned over to retrieve his boots.

“Why can’t you?” Stacy asked.

Joe hobbled over to the nearest chair and sat down. “I’ve got to go into town, do some research,” he said, as he slipped on his right boot.

“Maybe Hoss and I can do the research for you, Grandpa,” Stacy suggested. “What do you want to know?”

“It would take too long for me to explain,” Joe replied, as he slipped on his other boot. “Benjy . . . OUR Benjy . . . can’t spare the time.”

“Joe, you ain’t talkin’ sense,” Hoss protested.

“Hoss, you remember that strange incident that happened to me . . . to all of us, just after I’d turned thirteen?”

“Yeah . . . what about it? ”

“WHAT strange incident?” Stacy demanded, as she picked up her brother’s hat, green jacket, and gun belt.

“Not now, Kid, there’s no time,” Joe said, hoping to forestall any further questions. “We’ll tell you everything later. I promise.” He rose to his feet, wavering as wave upon wave of dizziness suddenly assaulted him.

Hoss put out a hand to steady him.

“Thanks,” Joe murmured gratefully.

“Grandpa, you can’t even stand on your own two feet!” Stacy pointed out the obvious, her blue eyes round with alarm. “How in the world do you expect to sit a horse all the way to Virginia City?!”

“I can manage . . . if Hoss comes with me.”

Hoss rolled his eyes heavenward, earnestly beseeching, “Why me?” He, then, sighed and shook his head. “Li’l Brother, if you honest ‘n truly expect me t’ take part in this . . . whatever this crazy scheme o’ yours is, you got some real tall explainin’ to do.”

“That strange incident, Hoss, remember?”

“I told ya I did.”

“I don’t think we got rid of that spirit.”

A puzzled frown creased Hoss’ brow. “SURE we did, actually YOU did.”

“I don’t think so,” Joe insisted. “I stopped it from bothering us, maybe sent it back to sleep, but I didn’t send it AWAY.”

“What’s this got to do with what’s ailin’ Benjy?” Hoss demanded.

“Everything! I think that same spirit . . . the one that plagued me more years ago than I wanna think about some days . . . it’s come back. This time, for Benjy.”

“Joe, you sure that beatin’ you took didn’t damage your head?”

“I’ll explain it on the way to town.”

“All right,” Hoss sighed.

“Come on, we’ve got no time to waste,” Joe urged.

“I’m coming along, too,” Stacy said.

“Not this trip, Kid. Hoss and I need YOU here to run interference with Pa.”

“Thanks a lot!” Stacy groaned, casting a nervous glance toward the front door. “You know I can’t lie to him. Sooner or later he ALWAYS catches me up in it.”

“True,” Hoss said, then grinned. “But you can lead him on a longer merry chase than Joe ‘n I ever could.”

“Actually, Little Sister, you don’t have to lie to him at all,” Joe said with a complacent smile.

“Uh oh!” Stacy murmured darkly. “Looks like Hoss was right about that head damage.”

“Stacy, you can truthfully tell Pa that I snuck out of the house and rode off half cocked . . . and Hoss went after me.”

 

End of Part 3.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well howdy, Eric . . . Joseph! Long time no see!” Georgianna Wilkens, president of the Virginia City Literary Society and librarian emeritus of the Virginia City Lending Library, greeted the two younger Cartwright brothers effusively, her soft voice dripping with mint julep and magnolia.

She kept her actual age a closely guarded secret. Those who knew her best believed her to be anywhere from her late-fifties to her early eighties. She was a petite, diminutive woman, standing an inch shy of five feet and weighing in at ninety-five pounds, soaking wet. Her luxuriant hair, worn usually in a simple chignon or French twist, had been snow white as far back as most could remember, and she had a pair sharp, piercing blue eyes that missed absolutely nothing.

“Jenna Lee, please . . . be a nice darlin’ and fetch us all some of that lemonade punch I made up this morning?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jenna Lee Dennison curtly nodded her head, then turned heel and strode briskly from the Wilkens drawing room. She was a tall, stolidly built black woman, with iron gray hair, and penetrating brown-almost black eyes capable of peering into a person’s heart and seeing the true innermost self. She was an exceedingly good judge of character, a trait Georgianna Wilkens had quickly learned to trust over the long years of their association.

“In the meantime, why don’t the three o’ US move on into the parlor, where we’ll be more com--- ” Georgianna’s words abruptly terminated in a loud gasp of alarm, upon getting a good hard look at Joe’s bruised, battered face. “Flapjacks ‘n fol-de-rol, Boy!” she exclaimed. “Someone sure as shootin’ worked you over but GOOD!”

Joe barely managed a wan smile. “If y’ think I look bad, Mrs. Wilkens, ya oughtta see the OTHER guy.”

“You smart assed young pup! If you weren’t already black ‘n blue, I’d haul ya out to that woodshed I’ve got out back, ‘n give that ornery hide of yours a tannin’ it’ll NEVER forget,” Georgianna growled, favoring the youngest Cartwright son with a dark, withering glare. “Does your pa know you’re out ‘n about in your condition, Young Man?”

Joe’s smile immediately faded. “ . . . uhhh, no, Ma’am. If he did, this, ornery young hide of mine would be looking at TWO tannings it’ll never forget,” he replied in a tone of voice a little too solemn, with that cherubic, whipped puppy dog look on his face.

“A big, tall glass of my secret recipe lemonade punch’ll fix you right up, lickity-spit,” Georgianna said brusquely, as she slid open the pocket door to her formal parlor. “You SURE you’re all right, Boy? Now that I see you up close, you look awfully pale under all that black and blue . . . . ”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Wilkens,” Joe hastened to reassure. “Honest. It just LOOKS a lot worse ‘n it is.”

Georgianna invited them to sit down with a broad, sweeping gesture in the general direction of the divan. “So what brings you boys out to MY neck of the woods?”

“We want to pick your brains, Ma’am, seeing as how you’re the expert in local history,” Joe replied, as he collapsed heavily onto the divan. Hoss took a seat in the overstuffed wingback chair that the late Eli Wilkens had brought to the marriage nearly sixty-odd years ago.

“Expert?!” Georgianna threw back her head and laughed heartily. “Hardly that, Boy. Oh sure, I’ve done a bit of reading here and there, and put some information together, but I’m hardly what you’d call an expert. I’ll do my best to answer your questions, but I make no guarantees.”

“Fair enough,” Joe quipped with a saucy grin.

“What do you want to know?” Georgianna asked, as she eased herself into the ancient rocking chair that had once belonged to her mother and maternal grandmother.

“To begin with . . . who ELSE besides my family lived on what’s now the Ponderosa?” Joe asked.

“Lot’s o’ folks, Boy,” Georgianna replied. “Indians, mostly . . . some trappers, ‘n a few settlers passin’ through. That Ponderosa of yours is a mighty big piece of land. You tryin’ t’ find out about somebody specific?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Joe replied. “Earlier today, Adam told me about a family whose farm was where our house and barn are now.”

“That’d be the Menkens,” Georgianna said immediately. “What about ‘em?”

“All six of the children in the family died of some kinda food poisoning?” Joe asked.

“Saint Anthony’s fire!” Georgianna snapped, her face suddenly dark as a thundercloud just before the storm breaks. “Comes from eating bad rye!” She, then, sighed very softly, her anger gone just as quickly as it had arisen. “Sorry, Joseph,” she murmured contritely, “I didn’t mean t’ take your head off just now. Fact o’ the matter is . . . those poor children, God bless ‘em, had no damned business dying like that . . . ‘n just thinking about it STILL makes my blood boil!”

“What did ya mean when ya said they had no business dying like that, Ma’am?” Hoss asked, with a bewildered frown.

“We had in epidemic here in town,” Georgianna said, her eyes glazing over as memories of that time and place began to surface. “Adam was a young fella, ‘n YOU Eric,” a wistful smile spread slowly across her lips, “I always had a hard time trying t’ figure out your age when you were little . . . . ”

“Him?! Little?” Joe couldn’t resist, even in the midst of his misery and extreme discomfort. “Mrs. Wilkens . . . WHEN was this brother of mine EVER little??”

“Fuuhhhh-neee, Li’l Brother,” Hoss growled. “So dang funny, I plumb forgot t’ laugh.”

“Glad t’ see all that black ‘n blue’s not addled your wit, Boy,” Georgianna said with a touch of sarcasm. “Anyway . . . can’t recall exactly how old YOU were at the time, Eric,” she resumed her story, “but you couldn’t have been much more ‘n a baby yourself. The Coulter twins were struck down first, then Bonnie Luke ‘n her baby boy. After that . . . . ” she sighed, then very sadly shook her head, “children, the littlest ones at first . . . suckling babes ‘n their mamas . . . were struck down like flies.”

“Just the little children, babies, and . . . nursing mothers?” Joe asked.

“Back then, Joseph, ALL o’ us were what folks today refer t’ as ‘those less fortunate than ourselves,’ ” Georgianna explained. Her wry tone of voice brought an amused grin to the Cartwright brothers’ faces. “I think you boys know that rye’s the poor man’s bread . . . . ”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Hoss replied.

Joe simply nodded his head.

“Many a man, woman, ‘n child made their meals o’ rye bread ‘n milk, if they were lucky enough t’ own a cow or a goat,” Georgianna continued, “ ‘n many a mama ‘n papa went without so their children’d have enough t’ eat. That’s why so many more children were stricken with Saint Anthony’s fire . . . ‘n ended up dying.

“My Eli, God rest his soul, ‘n the doc knew that bad rye had to’ve come from Caleb Marsh’s general store. His was the only one in town, but that ol’ skinflint denied it, when he wasn’t strutting around town like a . . . a rutting bantam rooster, crowing about buying up a whole big barn full o’ ground rye for less ‘n fifty dollars. They . . . Eli ‘n the doc that is, tried their damndest t’ get Roy t’ do something, but HE told ‘em his hands were tied. It’d be their word against Caleb’s.

“About a month or so after the first ones stricken had died, Eric . . . you ‘n Adam were stricken . . . . ”

“With Saint Anthony’s fire?!” Hoss queried with a puzzled frown. “I don’t remember that . . . . ”

“Like I said before, you weren’t much more ‘n a baby at the time,” Georgianna said. “Your pa, of course, got rid o’ every last speck o’ rye in his pantry, like the doc told him, ‘n you boys began t’ get better. He was fit t’ be tied, too, when HE found out that Roy couldn’t do anything t’ stop Caleb from selling rye we knew was bad.”

“What did Pa do about it?” Joe asked.

“He ‘n Eli tracked down the man Caleb bought all that rye from,” Georgianna replied, cackling with genuine mirth. “Shady deal that, all the way around. The man confessed that he owed Caleb money, ‘n that he suspected a good bit o’ rye in that barn o’ his might be bad. He’d figured by making that deal with Caleb, he could knock off two birds with one stone. After your pa ‘n Eli made him repeat what he told them t’ the sheriff, they were able t’ go into the general store ‘n force Caleb t’ hand over every last bit o’ rye he had.

“T’ say that miserly ol’ coot was fit t’ be tied when the sheriff ‘n the doc told him, would be making light o’ the whole thing. The sheriff ended up having t’ tell Roy Coffee t’ lock Caleb up, so he ‘n the others could haul it all outta the general store ‘n burn it. By that time, everyone else had rid themselves of what rye they had on hand, ‘n those who weren’t too far gone started t’ recover.

“The Menken children were stricken . . . . ” Georgianna fell silent for a moment to do some mental figuring, “ . . . it had t’ be a good two weeks . . . maybe even three, AFTER your pa, Roy Coffee, the doc, n’ Eli took all the bad rye out o’ Caleb Marsh’s general store, ‘n burned it.”

“If Pa, Mister Wilkens, ‘n the others burned all the rye this Caleb Marsh had in his general store . . . how’d the Menken children end up getting’ sick?” Hoss asked.

“It didn’t occur t’ any of us that Caleb might have more o’ that bad rye stored somewhere else,” Georgianna replied, her ire rising once again. “The oldest Menken boy did a lot o’ work for Caleb . . . stocking the shelves ‘n sweeping up in his store . . . muckin’ out his barn . . . splitting his wood into kindling . . . ‘n a whole host of other chores ‘n odd jobs. Many’s the time I thought sure that ol’ skinflint was gonna end up working that poor child to his death. The very last time that boy did work for him, Caleb must’ve paid him with a sack or two o’ that bad rye.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout that poor farmer boy that used t’ come ‘round here all the time . . . lookin’ for work . . . back when The Mister, God bless ‘im, was still with us?” Jenna Lee asked as she sauntered into the parlor, bearing an enormous tray with a big pitcher filled to the brim with Georgianna Wilkens’ infamous lemonade punch, four tall glasses, and a platter full of ginger snaps, piping hot right out of the oven.

Joe immediately rose on a pair of unsteady legs. “Here, Ma’am . . . let ME take that tray,” he offered.

“You sit yourself right back down this instant, or so HELP me, I’LL take a switch to ya, black ‘n blue or NO black ‘n blue,” Jenna Lee reprimanded the youngest Cartwright son severely. “I’ll have the BOTH of ya know,” she continued, glaring over at Hoss as well, “I’m a big, strong, healthy gal, just like m’ mama ‘n my grandma, thank you very much---”

“Aww fer---!! Jenna Lee, would ya puh-leeze . . . quit your yammering ‘n park your ass before that lemonade punch gets warm, ‘n those cookies get cold?!” Georgianna growled. “There’s a spot for ya right there . . . . ” she pointed, “next t’ young Joseph.”

“I don’t eat much, Mrs. Dennison.” Joe favored the older woman with his most charming smile, while patting the empty place beside him.

“You mind your manners, Boy,” Jenna Lee admonished the youngest Cartwright son severely, then smiled. “ ‘Course if I was forty years younger, or somewhere thereabouts, I mightn’t be such a stickler ‘bout you mindin’ your manners.”

“ . . . and if I was, um that much older, Miz Jenna Lee, mindin’ my manners’d be the last thing on my mind,” Joe declared with a broad grin.

“Scamp!” Jenna Lee returned with a broad grin, as she set herself to the task of pouring the lemonade punch.

“Mrs. Dennison . . . that poor farmer boy that used t’ come ‘round, looking f’r work . . . was he the oldest Menken boy?” Hoss asked.

“Menken . . . . ” Jenna Lee murmured the name softly, as she handed Joe a glass of lemonade punch first, then poured one for Hoss. “Menken . . . yep! Sounds right! All o’ thirteen years old when he died, poor soul, but bein’ short ‘n slight, like his mama, he looked like he was no more ‘n ten, maybe eleven.”

“I . . . don’t understand something . . . . ” Joe said with a bewildered frown. “If the Menkens had a farm . . . why was their oldest boy always going around asking folks for work? Surely he must’ve had his hands full helping his ma ‘n pa out--- ”

Jenna Lee passed the glass of punch in hand over to Hoss, then poured two more, while vigorously shaking her head. “The Menken men . . . that’d be the mister ‘n his pa . . . were a couple o’ lazy, shiftless, mean ‘n nasty, no account, drunkards,” she said, with a murderous scowl on her face. “The only time either one of ‘em could be bothered t’ lift a finger was when they sat down t’ that home made hooch o’ theirs or that watered down rotgut a lotta cheap saloons pass off as whiskey whenever they got hold o’ some pocket money.”

“You hadn’t oughtta be speakin’ so ill o’ the dead, Miz Jenna Lee Dennison,” Georgianna admonished her companion as she reached for a gingersnap.

“First off, we don’t know for fact they’re dead,” Jenna Lee retorted primly, “ ‘n second, that’s about the kindest things I CAN say ‘bout that pair o ornery, nasty ol’ sidewinders.”

“Now, NOW, Miz Dennison,” Joe chided her with mock severity, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You shouldn’t be insulting poor ol’ sidewinders that way, linking them in the same breath with the Menken men.”

Jenna Lee chuckled softly as she reached for a cookie. “You’re right as rain about that, Boy,” she said, wagging her head back and forth.

“T’ give some credit where it’s due, Mrs. Menken tried her damndest t’ make a go of that farm,” Georgianna said. “She was a proud woman . . . a VERY proud woman . . . with a stubborn streak about a hundred miles long ‘n ten miles wide. Had she also been a big, strong, healthy farm gal . . . it STILL wouldn’t have been easy, Lord above knows, but . . . I think she might’ve done all right.

“But, she was a small woman, small ‘n dainty like me,” Georgianna continued. “Never said word one ‘bout her family, or her beginnin’s, but she was a very soft-spoken woman, ‘n had the ways of gentility about her. Had a real strong sense o’ duty, but I don’t think she ever had t’ do a whole lotta physical work, leastwise not before she married Mister Menken.”

“How do ya figure THAT, Ma’am?” Hoss asked.

“Her hands,” Georgianna replied. “The skin was smooth ‘n soft . . . with nary a callus on ‘em.”

“How a woman like her ended up leg shackled to a good-for-nothin’ like her mister, I’ll NEVER know!” Jenna Lee declared.

“Adam told me that Pa sometimes helped ‘em out,” Joe said quietly.

“Your pa had a lot o’ respect for Mrs. Menken,” Georgianna said, “ ‘n knowing your pa as I do, I’d say he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. He did what little he could t’ help her out, even though HE had no time t’ spare what with tryin’ to build up his own spread ‘n raise a couple o’ young, rambunctious motherless boys. A few o’ the other neighbors helped out, too, as best they could, but at the end o’ the day? It just plain ‘n simple wasn’t enough. Had those children o’ hers, ‘specially that oldest boy, NOT died o’ Saint Anthony’s fire? Young Benjy ‘n his mother would’ve worked themselves right into their own graves, the kindness o’ neighbors like your pa, not withstandin’.”

Upon hearing the Menken boy’s name, Joe’s jaw dropped. The blood drained right out of his face, taking away what little color, apart from the lurid bruising, he might have regained. His hands shook so badly, he almost certainly would have dropped the glass of punch he held, had it not been for the quick thinking and quicker action on the part of Jenna Lee Dennison.

“You ailin’, Boy?” she demanded with an anxious frown, after snatching the glass out of his hands.

“M-Mrs. Wilkens . . . d-did you just s-say that the Menkens’ oldest boy’s name was . . . that it w-was . . . Benjy?!” Joe barely managed to stammer out the question.

“That’s right,” Georgianna replied. She studied the youngest Cartwright son with an anxious frown. “You SURE you’re all right, Boy?”

“I . . . f-fine,” Joe gasped, as he fought desperately to regain some small measure of composure, leastwise enough so Mrs. Wilkens and Mrs. Dennison both wouldn’t be staring at him like he was tottering on his last legs at the edge of his own grave. He squeezed his eyes shut, and took a deep, ragged breath. “Mrs. Wilkens . . . Mrs. Dennison . . . I’m fine,” he said again in a tone of voice too carefully measured. “Honest. I’m just fine.”

“I dunno, Li’l Brother . . . . ” Hoss said very quietly. “I’m thinkin’ I oughtta get you home ‘n put ya t’ bed.”

“Glad to see ONE of ya finally showin’ some sense,” Georgianna acerbically remarked, as she and Jenna Lee set their glasses down on the coffee table and rose.

“All right if I ask one more question?” Joe asked.

“One more question, if you’ll promise me that once your big brother puts ya t’ bed, you’ll STAY there,” Georgianna said sternly,

“I promise, Mrs. Wilkens,” Joe replied in a solemn tone of voice, while Hoss very carefully helped him to his feet.

“See that ya do!” Georgianna snapped. “Now what didja wanna ask me?”

“What did Benjy Menken look like?”

“He was a little fella, small ‘n slight built, like Jenna Lee said,” Georgianna replied, then added, “He also had a mop o’ unruly, brown, curly hair . . . just like YOURS gets sometimes, Joe . . . ‘n he had eyes like you, too . . . y’ know . . . chameleon eyes that can change t’ whatever color they want t’ be.”

“Never had much in t’ way o’ clothes,” Jenna Lee said. “Always had on that same pair o’ worn, threadbare overalls, day after day . . . day in, ‘n day out, no shirt, went barefoot that last summer . . . . ”

An ice-cold chill shot down the entire length of Joe’s spine, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He and Hoss looked over at each other with the same uneasy wariness in their eyes.

“I sure hope that young man makes it back home in one piece,” Georgianna grumbled under her breath, as she and Jenna Lee watched the Cartwright brothers ride toward the main road that would ultimately take them home.

“Hmpf!” Jenna Lee snorted, as she turned and started back down the walk toward the front door. “If I didn’t know better . . . I’D say those boys just saw themselves a ghost.”

 

“Hoss, I’ll lay you odds ten to one that Benjy Menken’s body lies buried in that circle of tress out behind the barn,” Joe said, his excitement mingling with his increasing distress. He sat astride Cochise, leaning over with his arms clasped loosely around the pinto’s neck, and eyes squeezed shut. Hoss rode slightly ahead, with a firm hand on Cochise’s lead, casting a worried glace back at his younger brother every few minutes. “Maybe the bodies of his brothers and sisters, too.”

“What makes ya say that, Li’l Brother?” Hoss asked, anxious to keep Joe talking.

“That place has ALWAYS . . . long as I can remember . . . seemed dark and creepy,” Joe replied. “You never liked to play in there either.”

“No, I sure didn’t,” Hoss replied with a shudder.

“ . . . and Stacy goes outta HER way to avoid that circle of trees, too.”

“So do our horses,” Hoss said, “the ones we got now, ‘n just about every other we’ve ever had.”

“Every DOG we’ve ever had, too.”

“ ‘n the barn cats . . . . ”

“ ‘specially Mama Cat,” Joe added with a shudder. “Gets a little creepy, the way she stares into that circle sometimes, growling, hissing, and carrying on with her hackles up, ‘n tail puffed to about three times it’s normal size . . . . ”

“ . . . uhhh, Joe?” Hoss queried after they had lapsed into silence for a moment.

“What?”

“I really think you oughtta get on Chubb with me,” Hoss said, his growing concern deepening the furrows already present in his brow.

“Awww . . . come ON, Big Brother . . . how many times do I hafta tell ya . . . I’m ok?!” Joe demanded, thoroughly exasperated, yet desperately afraid he was going to pitch headlong right out of the saddle, into the dust at his horse’s feet.

Hoss sighed. That little brother of his could be so dadburned stubborn sometimes . . . at the very worst of times, more often than not. “All right, Joe, let’s say Benjy Menken’s grave DOES lie in that circle o’ pine trees out behind the barn,” he said, deciding that the better part of valor, for the time being at least, would be to continue along the line of conversation had started after they’d left Mrs. Wilkens’ home. “How does figurin’ that out gonna help us?”

“I dunno, Hoss,” Joe replied. “THAT’S why we’re gonna see Father Brendan.”

“We’re gonna . . . WHAT?!” Hoss demanded incredulously. A murderous scowl darkened his face.

“You heard me.”

“Ooohh no, Li’l Brother,” Hoss immediately dug in his proverbial heels. “Pa’s, like as not, already waitin’ for the two o’ us t’ get home, so he can skin us alive . . . ‘n YOU promised Mrs. Wilkens ‘n Mrs. Dennison both you’d go home ‘n keep yourself in bed once I’d put ya back there.”

“Yeah . . . but, I didn’t promise ‘em WHEN I’d go home ‘n letcha put me back to bed,” Joe gamely pointed out, “ ‘n, Brother? If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon put off facing Pa as long as I possibly can.”

“Y’ gotta point there, I reckon,” Hoss reluctantly had to concede . . . .

 

“Father, PLEASE!” Dolores di Cordova begged, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You MUST come back with us and perform an exorcism for my grandson.”

An exasperated sign exploded from between Adam’s lips, thinned by his escalating anger and frustration, to a near straight line. “Dolores, we agreed— ”

“No, Adam,” she snapped, her voice filled with anger and desperate fear. “YOU agreed. You and Teresa. NOT me.”

“Dolores . . . . ”

Father Brendan Rutherford quelled Adam’s angry protest with a sharp glance. He sat behind the expansive mahogany desk in his study, with elbows resting on its surface, his emerald green eyes moving from Dolores di Cordova to Adam Cartwright, and back again over the tips of his steepled fingers. “Mrs. di Cordova, why do you believe your grandson to be possessed of an evil spirit?” the priest inquired in a quiet voice.

Dolores shot her son-in-law a look of smug triumph, then returned her attention to the priest. “This illness he has,” she replied. “The doctor told us himself that he could do nothing for the boy. He even suggested we consult with a priest.”

“I’m very sorry to hear your son is so ill, Adam,” Father Brendan said. “What, exactly, is the nature of his illness?”

“Doctor Martin told us that Benjy’s symptoms seem to be consistent with an advanced case of Saint Anthony’s fire,” Adam replied. “The only things missing are fever, rash, and gangrene in the extremities. The doctor also told me that he’s of the opinion Benjy’s symptoms are hysterical rather than physical.”

“I see. I trust the other members of your family are symptom free?”

Adam immediately nodded his head. “So far as I know, the only meals my son’s taken since he, his sister, and grandmother arrived, have been at the house. The week before that, they were on the road and ate at the way stations and inns, where the stage stopped.”

“Mrs. di Cordova, I trust you and your granddaughter are symptom free?”

“Yes, Father.”

“As are my father, brothers, sister, Hop Sing, and, as far as I know, the men who work for my father,” Adam added. “If Benjy did truly have an advanced case of Saint Anthony’s fire, we ALL would.”

“ . . . and you are certain your son has not partaken of food from a source apart from the other members of your family?” Father Brendan asked.

“As certain as I can be,” Adam replied.

“Yet this illness is killing him,” Dolores pressed. “It MUST be an evil spirit.”

“Mrs. di Cordova, I’d like a few words alone with Adam, if I may,” the priest said quietly.

“Certainly.”

Father Brendan rose and walked over to the closed door. He put his large, massive hand to the doorknob and turned. “Brother Algernon?”

The portly monk ambled in to the office. “Yes, Father?”

“Brother Algernon, you remember Adam Cartwright?”

Brother Algernon looked over at the eldest of Ben Cartwright’s sons and smiled. “Well, bless my soul,” he murmured softly, grinning from ear-to-ear. “It’s been a long time, Adam . . . too long, in fact.”

“Yes, indeed,” Adam replied, favoring the monk with a warm smile. “Dolores, Brother Algernon Wolfe tutored me in math to help me prepare for Harvard. Brother Algernon, this is my mother-in-law, Dolores di Cordova.”

“Good afternoon, Senora di Cordova,” Brother Algernon acknowledged the introduction in Spanish, with impeccable accent and grammar. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Gracias, Hermano Wolfe,” Dolores murmured graciously.

“Brother Algernon, I need to speak with Adam privately for a few moments,” Father Brendan said. “Would you mind escorting Mrs. di Cordova to the drawing room and serving her a light refreshment?”

“Certainly, Father. Mrs. di Cordova, if you would come with me?”

 

Father Brendan waited patiently until Dolores and Brother Algernon had left his office, closing the door behind them. “Adam,” he said, returning his attention to the weary, distraught man seated before him, “how are things right now with your family? By family, I mean you, your wife, and the children.”

“Teresa and I are doing just fine,” Adam replied. “The children on the other hand . . . . ” He sighed and dolefully shook his head. “To be candid, Father Brendan, things could definitely stand an improvement.”

“In what way?”

“Well . . . for openers, Benjy, who’s always bought home very high grades ended this school year with a very dismal report,” Adam began dolefully. “He has been passed to the sixth grade on probation because the teacher he had this past year knows he’s more than capable of doing the work. But he’s also made it very clear that if Benjy’s grades don’t improve during the first quarter, however, he’ll be sent back to repeat the fifth grade.”

“Adam, I remember you as being a very bright, very creative, very intelligent young man,” the priest began. “You had, and I would imagine STILL have, an eagerness . . . a willingness to learn, I’ve not seen in anyone else. You graduated with a degree in engineering from Harvard University magna cum laud, no less--- ”

“Father Brendan, are you trying to ask me whether or not I’ve placed demands and expectations on my son that he’s not capable of meeting?” Adam asked, with eyebrow slightly upraised, meeting the priest’s eyes with his own, unflinching.

“Yes,” Father Brendan ruefully admitted, while silently noting how much Adam, with that look on his face, reminded him of Ben. “I had to ask, Adam.”

“I might also add that my wife . . . the boy’s mother . . . was a school teacher, who had the rare privilege of getting a true classical education. As a result, she is quite fluent in Greek and Latin as well as English and her native Spanish,” Adam said, then paused momentarily, to allow the man seated across the desk to absorb the import of those words.

“To answer your question, Father Brendan,” he continued a moment later, speaking in a more kindly tone of voice, “I feel that while Teresa and I certainly expect our children to do their best in their school work and anything else they choose to undertake, I honestly don’t feel we’ve held either one to unrealistically high expectations. In fact we’ve tried our best to avoid that pitfall.”

“I take it Benjy enjoys going to school?”

“Yes . . . very much, up until now at any rate. If you’d ever had an opportunity to listen in on him discussing what he’d learned in school with Eduardo, his maternal grandfather . . . .” Adam managed a wan smile. “You wouldn’t have asked that question.”

“No trouble at school?”

“I just found out yesterday that some of Benjy’s classmates had recently been teasing him about his fear of horses toward the end of the school year,” Adam said ruefully.

“Oh?”

Adam nodded. “As you know, Teresa and I arrived in Virginia City . . . I guess it’s been going on six weeks ago now, so I could be best man for Matt Wilson.”

“Ah yes,” Father Brendan said quietly. A smile tugged hard at the corner of his mouth. “Virginia City’s Wedding of the Century.”

“That’s why I knew nothing about Benjy’s grades or of his troubles with the other children until recently,” Adam explained.

“Who watched over your children during your absence?”

“The di Cordovas . . . Eduardo and Dolores.”

“Am I correct in assuming that they’ve not deliberately sought to withhold any of this from you?”

“No.” Adam emphatically shook his head. “Dolores and I talked about all this yesterday. Neither she nor Eduardo knew about Benjy’s poor report card until the end of the school year. Mister Townsend, Benjy’s teacher, told me in a note included with the boy’s final report, that he had sent a letter home with him to let us know about his declining scholastic performance. Benjy never gave it to his grandparents.”

“What of his troubles with the other children?” the priest asked.

“Dolores told me THAT came out . . . from Dio . . . when the di Cordovas confronted Benjy for lying about having been invited to the birthday celebration of a boy who’s been his best friend since to two of them uttered their first words as babies,” Adam replied. “We’re pretty sure he didn’t want to attend the party because of the teasing from the other children.”

“You mentioned that the boy is afraid of horses,” Father Brendan said.

Adam told the priest about the incident that had taken place during the course of a procession in honor of Saint Francis of Assisi on his Feast Day. “Frankly, I can’t blame the boy for being frightened,” he said quietly. “Facing down a frightened horse bearing down on you can be a real terrifying experience.”

“Have you tried to help your son overcome his fear?”

“No, because neither Teresa nor I had any idea he WAS so terribly afraid of horses until yesterday,” Adam said, his voice filled with remorse and regret.

“Is Benjy a child who comes either to you or your wife when he’s upset about something?” Father Brendan asked.

“He’s always been a quiet child, very shy around people he doesn’t know,” Adam replied. “Sometimes he DOES come to Teresa and me on his own. More often than not, however, we notice that he’s being a little too quiet and end up asking him whether or not something’s wrong.”

“Is he forthcoming when you ask?”

“Yes,” Adam replied. “He has been . . . up until now.”

“Is there anything he else he’s not told you about?” Father Brendan continued. “Besides his report card, his troubles with the other children at school, and his fear of horses, I mean.”

“He’s had some horrendous nightmares since his arrival here,” Adam replied. “One the first night, two last night. He won’t talk about them. He claimed he had forgotten about the first two, but I knew he hadn’t. The third, when I asked him, scared him too much . . . so he claimed anyway.”

“You also intimated that things were not as they should be between him and his sister,” Father Brendan said quietly.

“There’s always been . . . probably always will be a measure of sibling rivalry until such time as they grow out of it,” Adam replied. “Pa’s remarked on many occasions how much they remind him of Joe and me. His observations are accurate.”

“I understand.” A small smile appeared on his lips upon remembering some of the arguments that had arisen in the past between the man seated before him and his youngest brother. The smile very quickly faded. “I take it the children’s relationship with each other right now is something of a nature beyond the sibling rivalry you and your wife are accustomed to dealing with?”

“Yes. Out in the barn yesterday for instance . . . to back track a little, my sister, Stacy, agreed to teach Benjy and Dio how to ride,” Adam explained. “We don’t keep a stable in Sacramento, therefore neither of them has had much opportunity to learn.”

“I take it all this was agreed upon before you and your wife found out that Benjy is afraid of horses.”

Adam nodded. “NOT knowing that, I had sent Benjy out to the barn where Stacy was getting ready to teach Dio how to stable her horse,” he continued. “From what Teresa and I have been able to piece together, the children had a very intense set-to out in the barn.”

“What happened?”

“Based on what the kids and my sister said afterward, Benjy corrected Dio’s grammar in front of Stacy, embarrassing her thoroughly. Dio, in turn, got very angry and ended up humiliating her brother by poking fun at his fear of horses.”

“I see.”

“After a heart-to-heart talk with Grandpa, Dio decided that Benjy didn’t realize how much his correcting her grammar hurt and embarrassed her,” Adam continued. “She told me she needed to apologize to her brother because she’d MEANT to be cruel. Not long after, Dio somehow got herself trapped in the barn. I haven’t been able to get a straight account of exactly what happened. I only know that she was badly frightened . . . and so were our horses. In fact, they still shy away from the barn door.”

“Interesting,” the priest remarked. “What about Dio?”

“She won’t go near the barn either,” Adam replied. “I can’t blame her . . . she was hysterical when we finally got her out. She insists that Benjy was responsible.”

“Was he?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Any idea as to who WAS?”

“I have my suspicions, but no proof,” Adam replied. “My son’s apparently become acquainted with a boy, I assume to be around his age. His first name is also Benjy. No one seems to know this boy’s last name, and according to my son, he’s not been forthcoming.”

Father Brendan frowned. “He’s not the son of one of the men working for your father?”

“No. Nor is he a visiting relation.”

“Most curious,” Father Brendan mused. “Do you have any idea where this other Benjy came from? Who he might belong to?”

“Unfortunately . . . no,” Adam shrugged helplessly and shook his head. “I’d sure like to know, because we think this boy’s responsible for some other disturbing incidents last night and this morning.”

A quiet knock on the closed door drew Father Brendan and Adam from their conversation. “Please excuse me a moment, Adam,” the former said.

“Certainly.”

The priest rose to his feet, and ambled across the small room to the door. “Yes, Brother Algernon?” he queried upon opening the door.

“It seems you’re very popular this afternoon,” Brother Algernon said wryly. “Hoss and Joe Cartwright are waiting in the parlor. They insist on seeing you at once.”

“Really!” Father Brendan replied.

“Ordinarily, I’d have told those young bucks to be patient and wait their turn,” Brother Algernon pressed, “but Joe insisted it’s an emergency. Father . . . I dunno . . . something in his voice . . . . ”

“Please wait here, Brother Algernon . . . I’ll be right back.”

Brother Algernon nodded.

Father Brendan quietly closed the door, and turned his attention back to Adam. “Brother Algernon just told me that your brothers are here. They said it’s an emergency . . . . ”

Adam blanched. “Oh Dear Lord, I . . . I hope nothing’s happened to Benjy. You’d better ask Brother Algernon to show them in . . . and Dolores, too.”

Brother Algernon returned a few moments later with Dolores di Cordova and the two younger Cartwright sons in tow.

“Hey, Adam, what’re you ‘n Mrs. di Cordova doin’ here?” Hoss asked as he followed Joe, Dolores, and the priest’s housekeeper into the room.

“I was getting ready to ask you two the same thing,” Adam said soberly, rising to his feet. “Has something happened to Benjy?”

“No, not since we left,” Hoss replied.

“Then what, may I ask are the two of YOU doing here? Especially you, Joe!” Adam demanded with an anxious frown. “Pa’s going to skin you alive when he finds out you’ve come into town . . . if I don’t beat him to it.”

“You and Pa will hafta get in line,” Joe said tersely. “Mrs. Wilkens has first dibs on that pleasure. Adam . . . . ”

“What?”

“We . . . Hoss and I . . . KNOW who Benjy’s new friend is . . . or rather . . . who Benjy’s new friend WAS.”

“Was?!” Adam’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Was,” Joe reiterated.

An exasperated sigh exploded from between Adam’s lips. He turned to face his mother-in-law, who had just seated herself primly in the chair he had just vacated. “Dolores, so help me . . . if you’ve put these brothers of mine up to running some kind of a . . . a . . . fool’s errand--- ”

“Adam, I didn’t put your brothers up to anything . . . nor do I have the slightest idea as to what they’re talking about,” Dolores defended herself in a tone of voice, dripping with icicles.

“Hoss . . . . ” Adam turned to his younger, bigger brother with baleful eye. During the course of their growing up years, Hoss, by his own admission, couldn’t lie his way out of a burlap sack. Adam hoped and prayed that hadn’t changed in the years he had been away.

“Mrs. di Cordova’s right, Adam,” Hoss declared, with a glint of steel in his eyes and a fierce determined look on his face. “She’s got nothin’ t’ do with why Joe ‘n me are here.”

Adam saw, with a touch of dismay, that Hoss told the absolute truth. “All right . . . . ” he acquiesced with a weary sigh, “why don’t you begin by telling me who Benjy’s new friend was?”

“His name’s Benjy Menken, Adam.”

Adam’s scowl deepened. “Hoss, that’s NOT funny.”

“Adam . . . do you see either one of us laughing?!” Joe demanded. He folded his arms across his chest and met his oldest brother’s angry glare with a defiant one of his own.

“Who are the Menkens?” Dolores asked.

“The Menkens owned a farm that was located where Ben Cartwright’s house and barn now stand,” Father Brendan quietly answered. “If memory serves, their house was where the barn is . . . more or less. They had six children, Benjy being their second child and the oldest boy.”

“Where are they now, Father?” Dolores asked.

“The children died many years ago of Saint Anthony’s fire.”

“ALL of them?!” Dolores gasped. “All SIX of them?!”

Father Brendan nodded.

“Dear God!” Dolores murmured softly, as she quickly, furtively crossed herself.

“Benjy was the last of the Menken children to die,” Father Brendan continued. “After burying their son, the Menkens . . . the children’s’ parents and paternal grandparents . . . sold the land to Ben Cartwright and left. No one’s seen or heard from them since.”

“I knew it!” Dolores crowed triumphantly. “I KNEW there was an evil spirit in that house, I just KNEW it.”

“Oh great!” Adam muttered, thoroughly exasperated. “This is just great!”

“Mrs. di Cordova, please . . . forgive my bluntness, but Benjy Menken is NOT an evil spirit,” Joe said tersely. “He’s a boy . . . just a boy . . . a sad, frightened, lonely, angry boy . . . who led a very unhappy life the few years he walked this earth, and died before he had much of a chance to change things . . . or . . . or to make something of himself. Adam . . . . ”

“What?” Adam coldly demanded.

“You remember the strange occurrences that happened just after my thirteenth birthday . . . when Billy Caine told me that Pa wasn’t my pa?” Joe demanded.

“Yes, I remember,” Adam said stiffly. “What does that have to do with my son, or for that matter, with Benjy Menken?”

“It was the spirit of Benjy Menken who came after me then,” Joe explained. “I’m sure of it.”

“Joe, that’s ridiculous!” Adam hotly protested.

“No, it’s NOT! Think about it, Adam,” Joe urgently pressed. “At the time, I’d honestly come to believe that the men I’d always thought were my father and my brothers. . . weren’t. I can’t begin to tell ya how scared . . . how desperately lonely . . . and yes, how angry that made me feel. Benjy Menken picked up on all that, because that’s the way HE felt then . . . and that’s the way he STILL feels now.”

“All right,” Adam said stiffly. “For the sake of argument, let’s say we ARE dealing with the spirit of Benjy Menken. I have to admit . . . reluctantly . . . that you make a good case as to why he would have come for you when he did. That DOESN’T explain why he’d come for Benjy CARTWRIGHT.”

“I think it DOES, Adam,” Father Brendan said quietly.

“Excuse me?” Adam demanded, sparing no pains, no energy to conceal his growing ire and frustration, priest or no priest.

“Think back on everything you just told me,” Father Brendan kindly, yet very firmly suggested. “The similarities between Joe’s situation then . . . and your son, Benjy’s situation now . . . will become clear.”

Adam set aside his fears for his son and all the exasperation, anger, and frustration he felt toward present company, and gave grudging thought to the priest’s words. “Yes . . . . ” he finally said in a voice barely audible, filled with great remorse. “Yes . . . I . . . I see . . . . ”

“Thank God!” Dolores breathed a genuine, heartfelt, if brief, prayer of gratitude. “Then you’ll come, Father? You’ll come and bless the house? Drive out that boy’s spirit?”

“I’ll come, Mrs. di Cordova . . . if Adam, Hoss, and Joe also agree . . . but as Joe so aptly pointed out . . . Benjy Menken is no daemon, or evil spirit,” Father Brendan said. “Though his body died many years ago, he is still a human being . . . and like ALL human beings . . . possesses free will.”

“Are you saying you WON’T do the exorcism, Father?” Dolores demanded, indignant, not fully comprehending.

“No, Dolores,” Adam said gently. “I think the good father is trying to tell us he can splash holy water, say the words of exorcism, even burn sage as is the custom of some of the Indian tribes who make their homes here, until . . . until the cows come home as my brother, Hoss, here would say . . . but none of it’ll do one bit of good against a sad, frightened, lonely, and angry boy . . . who doesn’t want to go.”

“Then . . . what’ll we do?!” Dolores wailed.

 

“Father . . . . ”

All eyes turned toward the open door between Father Rutherford’s office and the small ante room just beyond. An elderly woman stood at the threshold. She had pulled the long, wispy strands of snow-white hair back away from her gaunt face, and secured them with a plain wooden barrette. Her pallid complexion, the dark, half-moon shaped circles under her eyes, the slight tremor in both hands, and the way her clothing bagged on her slight, emaciated frame bespoke of a lengthy illness from which she had very recently begun to recover.

“ . . . perhaps I might be of assistance?”

“Mrs. Smith!” Father Brendan exclaimed, astonished and deeply concerned for her well being. He shot right out of his chair and barreled around his desk, narrowly missing a head on collision with Hoss, who stood next to the chair, occupied by his younger brother. “Dear Lord in Heaven!” he murmured softly as he crossed the room. “Mrs. Smith, you . . . you really ought to be in bed. Let me call Brother Algernon--- ”

“Father, time is precious and fleeting” Lee Smith said in a very firm, no nonsense tone of voice that carried within it a subtle note of urgency. “We must leave for the Ponderosa at once.”

Adam stared at the woman, whom the priest had just addressed as Mrs. Smith with a perplexed frown. He had met her before, he was certain of it, but try as he might, he simply could not remember where or when.

“ . . . uhh, Ma’am?” Hoss ventured hesitantly, eyeing her gaunt, emaciated frame apprehensively.

Lee turned her attention to Hoss, but remained silent.

“Ma’am, it’s a long way out t’ the Ponderosa, over some real bumpy roads,” Hoss continued. “I hope y’ won’t be embarrassed none by my plain way o’ speakin’ but from the look of ya . . . you just plain ‘n simple ain’t up t’--- ”

“They . . . uhhh, they call you . . . Hoss . . . right?”

“Yes, ‘m.”

“I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need,” Lee continued in a very calm, matter-of-fact tone of voice. “BENJY’S the one who matters now.”

“Mrs. Smith, please,” Father Brendan begged, “rest assured we’re going to do all we can to help Benjy . . . Cartwright AND Menken. You . . . risking injury . . . possibly your life--- ”

“Father, nothing . . . least of all a buggy trip from here out to the Ponderosa over a few bumpy roads . . . can inflict any lasting harm on me any more,” Lee said firmly. There was a glint of steel in those deep sapphire blue eyes the priest had not seen in a very long time. “But, we need to leave now . . . right now, this minute . . . in order to save Benjy. I just hope and pray we aren’t already too late.”

“Father Brendan . . . . ”

“Yes, Adam?”

“I left our buggy and horses tethered to the post outside,” Adam said briskly. “Would YOU be good enough to drive it, and take Mrs. Smith, my mother-in-law, AND my youngest brother with you?”

“ME?!” Joe yelped.

“Yes, YOU, Little Brother,” Adam replied.

“How will YOU get back, Adam?” Dolores ventured, hesitant and uncertain.

“I’ll ride back with Hoss . . . on Joe’s horse,” Adam replied.

“Aww NO!! Doggone it, Adam, I’m perfectly capable of making it home on Cochise--- ”

“No, you ain’t,” Hoss said firmly.

“Hoss---!”

“We ain’t got time for me t’ be arguin’ with ya, Li’l Brother, so I’m givin’ ya a choice. You can ride back in t’ buggy with Father Brendan ‘n the ladies . . . or you can ride on Chubb with me,” Hoss said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument, no further discussion of the matter. “Now which’ll it be?”

“All right . . . all RIGHT! I’ll go in the buggy,” Joe said, glaring murderously at both of his brothers.

 

Ben Cartwright, meanwhile, sat before his desk, with both elbows resting on either side of an open ledger book, gingerly massaging his temples against what promised to be, if not the worst headache he’d ever suffered, then something awfully close to it.

Sadly, the only changes in his grandson’s condition continued to be for the worse. Teresa had moved the boy upstairs to the room she and Adam shared, with Hop Sing’s able assistance, earlier that day, after the family had eaten breakfast.

“ . . . what there was of breakfast to eat,” Ben muttered just under his breath.

 

 _“Hop Sing said it’s the warmest room in the house,” his daughter-in-law said, by way of explanation, “and . . . Adam and I both can stay close. If you’d rather we DIDN’T move him--- ”_

 _“If moving him upstairs will help make him more comfortable, then by all means, go ahead,” Ben readily assented._

 _She had nodded her thanks, then turned to leave, to go back to her son, hers and Adam’s, who clearly to one and all . . . even if no one spoke of it . . . was in fact lying on his deathbed._

 _“Teresa . . . . ” he very gently called to her._

 _She stopped and waited._

 _“I’m very sorry all this has happened . . . . ”_

 _“It’s not YOUR fault, Ben,” Teresa said. Though she spoke calmly, her eyes were unusually bright, and blinked to excess. She turned again, with the intention of returning to the bedroom downstairs, where Hop Sing worked at getting the still insensate boy ready for the move upstairs. “Ben?” she queried, pausing at the closed door, with her fingers loosely wrapped around the knob._

 _“Yes, Teresa?”_

 _“I want you to know that I don’t believe for one minute you have an evil spirit haunting this house,” she said firmly, with anger now mingling with worry and grief. “I . . . I’m sorry if Mother--- ”_

 _“You needn’t apologize for your mother, Teresa,” Ben said kindly. “You’re NOT responsible for her thoughts and opinions . . . and if this will help ease your mind . . . . ” As much as her mind could be eased given the circumstances. “I’ve come to realize that people sometimes ascribe to beliefs I personally have difficulty understanding let alone believing in myself, but, by and large, I don’t take offense.”_

 _He was gratified to see a small measure of tension leave her body. “Thank you, Ben,” she said very quietly, before disappearing inside the room. “I appreciate that.”_

 

Dio had undergone a dark transformation from the happy, eager, and rambunctious child who arrived at the stage depot in Virginia City a day and a half ago, to a sullen child, more quiet and withdrawn than her older brother had ever been, fearful of letting her mother out of her sight. Ben had tried to interest the child in a game of checkers several times throughout the day, and after dinner, he had invited her to partake of a big tall glass of lemonade with him outside on the porch, in the hope of giving mother and desperately ill son upstairs some much needed breathing space. Dio, however, would have none of it.

 

 _“Pa . . . the worst thing ‘bout all this . . . worse, even than comin’ home that day n’ . . . n’ . . . f-findin’ out she was dyin’ . . . was knowin’ I couldn’t be WITH her.”_

 

Hoss’ words, tearfully uttered a few days after Emily Pennington [1], a young woman he had come to care for very deeply, had left with a wagon train for San Francisco . . . .

. . . to die.

In a hospital, presumably.

Alone.

“Perhaps it IS for the best if Dio stays with Teresa and Benjy . . . . ” Ben reluctantly decided, sure in his own mind things couldn’t possibly get any worse . . . .

. . . that was, of course, was before he had stopped by Joe’s room, to check up on HIM, after Teresa and Hop Sing had gotten Benjy settled in upstairs, and found him no where in sight. Worse, Hoss was also gone. The only child of his that he was able to locate . . . finally . . . stood out by the corral, ostensibly watching their horses, looking guiltier than sin . . . .

 

“All right, Young Woman,” Ben Cartwright addressed his daughter in a very low, dangerously quiet voice, as thought and mind returned to present time and place, “you and I are going to go over this once more FROM the beginning.”

Stacy stood in front of the desk, with hands loosely clasped behind her back, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“THIS time,” Ben continued, seething with anger, all but consumed with frustration, worry, and grief, “I expect you to tell me the truth . . . the WHOLE truth . . . pure and simple . . . WITHOUT. embellishments. If you don’t, we’ll continue this discussion . . . OUT IN THE BARN.” He lifted his head, and favored her with a dark scowl, as he uttered those last few words. “Do I make myself clear?”

Stacy swallowed nervously. “Y-Yes, Sir,” she replied.

“Good,” Ben said, satisfied that from here on out, she would level with him and tell him exactly what was going on between Joe, Hoss, and herself. “First question,” he snapped. “Where have your brothers gone? By brothers, I mean HOSS and JOE.” This last he added wryly. “And I don’t want to hear any more nonsense about Joe running off half cocked, out of his head, and Hoss going after him.”

“They, ummm . . . they . . . w-went to . . . to, uhhh . . . . ”

“Spit it out, Girl,” Ben growled.

“They went to Virginia City, Pa--- ”

“They . . . WHAT?!” Ben roared.

“They went to Virginia City, Pa,” Stacy said again, very quickly, with healthy doses of fear and trembling.

“When was THIS?”

“I’m not sure . . . an hour, maybe a little less . . . before Hop Sing told us dinner was ready.”

“ . . . AND YOU DIDN’T SEE FIT TO TELL ANYONE?!”

“Pa, Joe said he HAD to go into town immediately if not sooner, because Benjy’s life depends on it.” Stacy’s words tumbled out of her mouth, one after the other, in a disconcerted rush.

“Stacy . . . . ”

She swallowed nervously once again upon hearing all too clearly the threatening note in her father’s voice. “That’s the truth, Pa. Honest! It IS!” she said again, this time with a pleading note in her voice. “Joe told Hoss and me he had to go into town and research something. We offered to do it for him, but he told us he didn’t have time to tell us what he needs to know.”

Ben folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back in his chair. “You KNOW what Doctor Martin said earlier,” he said slowly, in a tone of voice too even, too carefully measured.

“Yes, Sir,” Stacy responded warily, with fast sinking heart. Whenever her father spoke thusly to her or her brothers, it was almost always a very bad sign.

“Then I trust you have some idea as to how dangerous it is for him to be gallivanting about all over the country side,” Ben continued, his voice rising.

“Y-Yes, Sir . . . . ”

“Then WHY didn’t you tell me that he had gone?!” Ben demanded. “Or . . . perhaps MORE to the point . . . why didn’t you and Hoss stop him?”

“H-He said something about a . . . a strange incident that happened when he was thirteen years old,” Stacy said.

This drew a sharp, penetrating glance from her father.

“I have no idea what he meant by that, Pa,” Stacy said nervously, with a helpless shrug. “I-I’m pretty sure Joe wasn’t talking out of his head or anything like that, because Hoss seemed to know about . . . whatever . . . whatever it was . . . . ”

“What . . . exactly . . . did Joe say about that incident?” Ben asked, lowering his voice. His eyes darted momentarily toward the stairs.

“He told Hoss the spirit that plagued him then is plaguing Benjy NOW,” Stacy said, unconsciously taking her cue from Ben and lowering her voice as well. “I tried to ask questions, Pa, but they told me they’d explain it all to me later.”

“I . . . I thought that . . . that thing . . . had been exorcized . . . laid to rest,” Ben muttered angrily, through clenched teeth.

“HOSS said that, too,” Stacy said, “but Joe told him . . . that he . . . that he had stopped it then, but— ”

The sound horses galloping at full speed into the yard, cut Stacy off mid-sentence and drew her attention, and her father’s to the front door.

“Stay here!” Ben tersely ordered his daughter. He quickly rose to his feet and beat a straight path toward the front door. “Sooo . . . help . . . me . . . . ” he angrily muttered under his breath. “Soo-oooo-ooo . . . HELP me . . . if that young scallywag’s just galloped that pinto of his into the yard, banged up as he is---!”

The front door burst wide open a split second before Ben would taken hold of the latch. Acting entirely by instinct, he sidestepped, just before his oldest son barreled headlong into the house. Hoss followed his older brother close behind, moving at a brisk, yet more decorous pace.

Adam froze upon catching sight of his father, his entire body tense, and pressed tight against the credenza, gazing over at him through eyes round with shock and astonishment.

“Pa?! Pa, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you w-were . . . that y-you were--- ”

“It’s all right, Adam,” Ben said in as calm a voice as he could muster. “I’M all right . . . no harm done.”

Adam closed his eyes and slowly exhaled the breath he had been holding.

“Were you and Dolores able to speak with Brendan?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Adam replied, nodding his head. “Father Brendan’s coming . . . he and the others should be along in a few minutes. Pa . . . . ”

“Yes, Son?”

“Where’s Teresa?”

“Upstairs,” Ben replied. “She and Hop Sing moved Benjy up to your old room. Dio’s with them.”

“Do me a couple of favors?”

“Of course, Son.”

“I think it best if I talk with Teresa privately,” Adam explained. “I’m going to send Dio downstairs. Would you mind looking after her?”

“Not in the least.”

“You can enlist Dolores’ help when she arrives with Father Brendan,” Adam continued. “She can be quite the handful, as you’ve seen . . . and that WILL occupy Dolores while I talk with Teresa.”

A grim task Ben for which didn’t envy his son one bit, if that argument between Mother and Daughter earlier was any kind of indication. He also found himself silently wishing to high heaven Dio WOULD prove to be a rambunctious handful, but sadly knew that such wouldn’t be.

“Don’t worry about Dio or Dolores either, Son,” Ben said. “I’ll make sure they’re kept occupied. You’ll let me know when it’s all right to send Father Brendan upstairs?”

“I will, Pa . . . and thank you.” Adam, then, turned and bolted up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.

“Young Man, if you know what’s good for ya . . . you’ll stop right where you are,” Ben growled, after Adam had gone upstairs. He knew without looking that Hoss was half way through the dining room, on a path that would take him though the kitchen and right out the back door.

“ . . . uhhh, Lordy,” Hoss groaned very softly.

“That’s better,” Ben observed in a tone of voice deceptively calm, gratified to see that his middle son had literally halted in his flight mid-stride. “Now why don’t the two of us g’won over and join your sister, who’d BETTER be waiting beside my desk.”

“Yessir,” Hoss reluctantly surrendered to the inevitable.

“On the way, you can tell me where Joe is,” Ben invited.

 

 _Benjy Cartwright knelt down beside his sister and peered into the tear stained face with a smile of immense satisfaction. She sat on the floor, near the foot of Mother and Papa’s bed, with her arms clasped tight around legs drawn up close to her body, and head resting heavily upon her knees. Her eyelids, upper lip, and cheeks were red and swollen, painfully so by the look of them. Tears flowed unchecked from her eyes, down her cheeks, all the way to her chin._

 _“I tol’ja she’d be sorry . . . . ”_

 _He raised his head and found his friend, Benjy, standing over him and Dio, clad in a pair of well-worn overalls, with no shirt. The unruly tangle of curls on top of his head looked as if they hadn’t felt the business end of a comb for at least a week . . . maybe even a whole month. He smiled triumphantly._

 _“ . . . and SHE’S gonna be the sorriest one of all,” he continued with grim relish, “because they’re gonna HATE her.”_

 _“They . . . who?”_

 _“Everyone,” the other Benjy replied, speaking with the bland matter-of-factness of one who knows absolutely, beyond any shred of doubt whatsoever, “your mother ‘n father, your grandmother, your grandpa, your uncles and aunt . . . even the China man. He’ll hate her, too.”_

 _“No, they WON’T!” Benjy said in a sullen tone of voice, as he replayed the events over the past few days._

 _“Yes, they will.”_

 _“They won’t!”_

 _“They WILL, I tell ya . . . . ”_

 _“No!” he said bitterly. “They WON’T! It’ll be just like all the other times she said and did mean things . . . or she wouldn’t sit still, ‘n do what she was told. Something happens . . . something ALWAYS happens! She gets sick, or she cries, or . . . or does other things, and they forget.”_

 _“Well, they won’t forget THIS time,” the other Benjy insisted._

 _“How do YOU know?” he demanded._

 _“I just know,” his friend smugly assured him. “THIS time, they WON’T forget when she was bad, or the mean, nasty things she said and did . . . and they’re gonna remember all the lies she said about ya, too,” his friend assured him. “I seen it happen. Not lots o’ times, but enough t’ know it does.”_

 _“You have? Really?”_

 _“Yep . . . ‘n you know what else?”_

 _“What?”_

 _“The biggest reason why they’re gonna hate her is . . . they’re gonna think it’s HER fault you got so sick and--- ” He suddenly broke off and looked away._

 _“ . . . they’re gonna think it’s her fault I got sick and . . . what?” he asked, trying to ignore the uneasiness that had just begun to gnaw deep within the pit of his stomach._

 _“Nothin’!” the other Benjy snapped, then brightened. “Come on. Let’s go out ‘n play.”_

 _“What ELSE were you going to say?” he pressed._

 _“I tol’ja! Nuthin’!”_

 _“Was SO!”_

 _“Was NOT!”_

 _“YES, IT WAS!” he yelled, then braced himself for a reprimand from Mother, who sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hand tightly between both of hers._

 _“She can’t hear you, Stupid, Stupid Head,” the other boy taunted him, his voice filled with cruel scorn and derision._

 _“Benjy, I’m NOT gonna go outside and play with you unless you tell me what ELSE you were gonna say,” he declared as he rose to his feet, bound and determined to have his way in this. He was getting sick and tired of the other Benjy calling him stupid head, and he wasn’t real sure he particularly cared for the way he bossed him around all the time._

 _“I CAN’T, ‘cause whatever it was . . . I forgot,” the other Benjy said in a sullen tone of voice. “Now come on--- ”_

 _“No.” Though it was lots of fun when it started, he was fast growing bored and uneasy with this dream about running around invisible to the eyes and ears of everyone around him, everyone that is except the boy who yet loomed high over him and Dio like a vulture, waiting._

 _He had no regret about making Dio sorry, and making everyone else hate her. That was nothing less than what she deserved, especially after the way she made fun of him about his fear of horses in front of Aunt Stacy and later, when she lied and said he had been the one to scare her so badly in the barn._

 _But the others . . . ._

 _. . . memories rose of the stories Grandpa Ben told of all the strange and wonderful places he’d visited, and people he’d met many years ago when he was a sailor, serving as first mate to Great Grandfather Stoddard aboard a ship called Wonderer. The words and the wondrous pictures they invoked all crammed into his head at once, filling it to near aching, just the way his stomach felt whenever he ate too much._

 _He remembered the stories Papa told, too, of all the places he’d been, the adventures he’d had before he met and married Mother._

 _The best stories of all though, were the ones Papa and Grandpa Ben told of the years they’d spent traveling thousands of miles across this land of their birth, all the way from Boston to Nevada. He enjoyed hearing stories about Grandma Inger, too._

 _Remembering all those stories began to stir anew his own secret dreams of visiting the places Papa and Grandpa Ben had spoken of, and seeing them for himself._

 _A bark of derisive laughter turned his remembering and the feelings they stirred within him from things that had seemed so solid, so real, he could reach out and take hold of them, to wisps of cloud and smoke that rose out from between his fingers to be scattered by the wind._

 _“Just a bunch o’ nuthin’!” the other Benjy snorted with disdain. “Nuthin’ but a bunch o’ lies ‘n tall tales made up by drunk ol’ men who ain’t got nuthin’ better t’ do . . . ‘n they’re always tellin’ ‘em t’ folks that got better things t’ do than sit around ‘n listen to ‘em. That’s what my pa says . . . . ”_

 _“I don’t care WHAT your pa says!” Benjy said defiantly._

 _“You better watch what you say ‘bout my pa,” the other boy warned._

 _“Why?” he hotly demanded. “Why should I watch what I say about a man who’d go off and leave his boy, and not come back? Your pa doesn’t sound like he’s a very nice man . . . ‘n he’s a liar!”_

 _“Oh, no he ain’t!”_

 _“HE IS SO, TOO!”_

 _“HE AIN’T!”_

 _“HE IS!”_

 _“TAKE IT BACK!”_

 _“NO!”_

 _“TAKE IT BACK, OR ELSE!”_

 _“OR ELSE WHAT?!”_

 _“OR ELSE I’LL . . . I’LL . . . YOU BIG, DUMB, STUPID, STUPID, STUPID! STAY HERE IF YA WANT TO! I’LL GO PLAY BY MYSELF!”_

 _“WELL YOU CAN JUST GO RIGHT AHEAD!”_

 _The other Benjy just stood there, glaring at him with a mixture of anger, surprise, smugness and something else . . . something he couldn’t recall ever seeing in the other Benjy’s face before._

 _Fear._

 _“Big dumb stupid head!” the other Benjy growled in a voice low and menacing, before turning heel and fleeing across the room, beating a straight path to the door._

 

As Father Brendan maneuvered the Cartwrights’ buggy around the barn and on into the yard, Dolores di Cordova, exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief upon seeing Doctor Martin’s conveyance nowhere in sight. The priest brought the horses to a stop in front of the hitching post next to the house, then clambered down, with an ease and agility, not commonly seen in a man of his years.

“Joe, you stay put for a moment,” Father Brendan sternly exhorted the youngest Cartwright son, as he ran around the back of the buggy to the passengers’ side of the front seat, to give Dolores a hand in getting down. “I’ll be around to help you and Mrs. Smith as soon as I see to Mrs. di Cordova.”

With a soft groan, Joe glanced up at the heavens, silently demanding of anyone who just might be listening, “Geeze Loo-weeze, why ME?” He sighed, then grumbled aloud, “Just because a guy has a couple o’ black ‘n blue marks on ‘im--- ”

“In YOUR case, Joe, I think it would be more accurate to say a couple of black and blue marks ALL OVER him,” the priest retorted, as he reached up and lifted Dolores from the buggy and set her down on Terra Firma.

“Oh, fuuu-uuuuhhh-neee!” Joe groused. “A few bruises does NOT mean I’m an invalid.” He grabbed hold of the back of the driver’s seat for support, then gingerly eased himself from the buggy to the ground, grimacing against the agonizing protest of stiff joints and bruised muscles. Once both feet were planted firmly on the ground, he took a deep breath, then reached up a hand toward Lee Smith, who had ridden out from Virginia City in the seat next to him. “Ma’am, if you need a hand getting d-d-d-uuuhhh--- ”

Joe’s words died away to stunned silence when he looked up and saw only an empty seat. Lee Smith was nowhere to be seen.

 

 _“Oh, Benjy, why?”_ Teresa silently agonized for the thousandth time. _“Why?”_

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding Benjy’s cold, flaccid hand sandwiched between both of her own, occasionally rubbing them in a desperate, valiant attempt to will warmth and life back into it.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day she and Adam had left Sacramento to come here, so that he might be the best man in the wedding of an old friend. They, her parents, her youngest brother, Miguel, Benjy, and Dio were gathered at the stage depot to see them off . . . .

 

 _“Teresa . . . Adam . . . don’t you DARE worry about a thing,” her father, Eduardo di Cordova, exhorted with a reassuring smile. “Benjy and Dio will be just fine here with their grandmother and me.”_

 _“I’ll look in on ‘em, too,” Miguel promised, “and make sure Mother and Father aren’t spoiling ‘em too rotten.”_

 _“Uh oh . . . . ” Adam groaned. “Teresa, I think you and I’d better change our plans again pronto!” He turned and favored Miguel, the youngest of his three brothers-in-law, with a withering, jaundiced glare. “If there’s anyone . . . anyone at all in this world who spoils our children worse than your parents and my father . . . it’s YOU.”_

 _“Mea culpa!” Miguel quipped with that saucy grin of his. “But, hey! That’s what indulgent uncles are for.”_

 _“Stop that, Miguel,” Dolores chided her youngest son, “before Adam and Teresa really DO change their plans.”_

 _“Adam . . . Teresa . . . you have MY solemn word that the children WILL attend to their school work . . . though there’s never any problem with Benjy in that regard . . . and they WILL go to bed on time,” Eduardo promised. “In return, I want the both of YOU to have a good, safe journey and, for heaven’s sake, enjoy yourselves.”_

 _“We will, Eduardo,” Adam promised._

 _“ . . . and one more thing, Adam . . . . ”_

 _“Yes, Sir?”_

 _“Please give my regards to your papa?”_

 _“I certainly will. I’m sorry you won’t be accompanying Dolores and the children later.”_

 _“As am I, Adam. I was looking forward to seeing Ben again, and your brothers. We’ve not seen THEM since the wedding.”_

 _“Not to mention my sister, who I’M going to be meeting face to face for the first time.”_

 _“Unfortunately, some pressing business has come up . . . . ”_

 

At that juncture, Teresa remembered turning her attention to the children. Benjy, as usual, sat on the bench over next to the stage depot building with nose firmly entrenched in book. Dio, a veritable tornado packed into human form, skipped in circles around her exasperated, weary grandmother, much to the great delight of her uncle, Miguel.

 

 _“Dio . . . and, you, too, Benjy . . . . ”_

 _At the sound of her voice, her daughter halted mid-stride and her son glanced up from his book._

 _“I expect both of you to be on your best behavior for your grandparents. That means doing your school work when you first come home, minding what they say— ”_

 _“I’ll be good, Mother, I promise,” Dio said in a very solemn tone of voice._

 _Benjy smiled a small, Mona Lisa kind of smile, nodded assent, and returned to his book . . . ._

 

All had SEEMED well that day . . . .

Teresa wracked her brains, searching the memories of her son in the weeks before, going back to the day she and Adam had decided to come a month early, searching desperately for something . . . anything, no matter how small or insignificant, that might have been an indicator of the events that had finally led them all to THIS impasse. She couldn’t decide which would be the most heartbreaking, should the unthinkable come to pass . . . .

Seeing a sign of something NOW that she had missed seeing then?

Or find absolutely nothing.

“Teresa?”

She turned slowly at the sound of her name and found herself gazing up into the pale, weary, frightened face of her husband.

“How is he?”

“The same,” she replied listlessly, turning her attention back to their son, his pale skin alarmingly translucent, his eyes closed. “Where’s Mother?”

“She’ll be along in a few minutes,” Adam replied, then turned to his daughter, still seated on the floor near the foot of the bed. “Dio . . . . ”

The child glanced up sharply. “Y-Yes, Pa?”

“I want you to go downstairs and visit with your grandpa for a little while,” Adam said. “I need to speak privately with your mother.”

“No,” the girl adamantly shook her head. “I don’t wanna go, Pa. I wanna stay here, with you, Ma, ‘n Benjy.”

“Do as your father says, Dio,” Teresa said sternly.

“No, Ma . . . please. I wanna stay here,” Dio whined.

“Dio . . . . ” Adam said sternly, his brows coming together to form an angry scowl.

“No, Adam, please! Let her be,” Teresa sighed. “We can step out in the hall for a few minutes.”

“All right,” Adam reluctantly agreed. “Dio . . . . ”

“Yes, Pa?”

“I need to speak to your mother privately for a few minutes,” Adam said. “We’ll be right outside in the hall. I want you to keep an eye on Benjy.”

Dio very solemnly nodded her head.

“Am I correct in assuming that the priest you and Mother went to see is coming?” she asked, after she and her husband had stepped out into the hall closing the door behind them. There was a sharp, angry edge to her tone of voice.

“Yes, but ONLY to pray with our son and . . . and with anyone ELSE who wishes it,” Adam replied. “He may also bless the house, if Pa gives him permission, but he is NOT going to perform an exorcism.”

“Do I have your word on that?”

“Yes, Teresa. You have my word.”

Teresa nodded, satisfied. Though wary of Mother Church and her priests, she did trust her husband. “When they come, you may invite them up,” she said. “As I told Mother before, I have no objections to anyone saying prayers.” She turned with the intention of going back into the bedroom.

“Teresa . . . . ”

“Yes, Adam?”

“There’s more . . . . ”

 

Adam closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Teresa, I want you to promise me that you’ll listen to what I have to say . . . to everything I have to say . . . without argument or interruption,” he began.

Her face immediately darkened with anger. “Adam, you promised me . . . you PROMISED me . . . that the priest wasn’t going to do an exorcism--- ”

“He’s NOT,” Adam said curtly. “Teresa, please--- ”

“All right!” she snapped. “I’ll listen.”

“ . . . without argument or interruption?”

An exasperated sigh exploded from between her lips. “Without interrupting or arguing,” Teresa promised through clenched teeth.

“First of all,” he began, “I want to assure you that I don’t believe for one minute that Benjy’s illness is the result of his being possessed by an evil spirit.”

The scowl on Teresa’s face deepened. She folded her arms tight across her chest, and waited, determined to honor the promise she had made, no matter how difficult.

“However . . . I . . . DO believe that he’s come under the influence of a ghost,” Adam continued, “the ghost of a boy, whose name is . . . WAS . . . also Benjy, who died when he was a little older than our Benjy is now.”

“Adam, surely you don’t believe in--- ”

“Generally speaking, no. I DON’T believe in ghosts,” Adam replied. “MOST of the time, if you look hard enough, there’s a logical explanation. This, unfortunately, it NOT one of those times.”

“Adam?”

“Yes, Teresa?”

“Before you continue, may I ask you one question?”

“All right . . . . ” Adam replied warily.

“Did MOTHER tell the priest---?!”

“No, Teresa. Dolores said nothing about ghosts,” Adam immediately replied.

“If SHE didn’t bring up the subject of ghosts . . . then, who DID?” she asked, suspicious and wary, yet curious in spite of her best intentions.

“Joe,” Adam replied.

“Joe?!” she echoed, astonished. “What was JOE doing in town? Didn’t Doctor Martin---?!”

Adam nodded. “Yes, Doctor Martin DID order Joe to stay in bed for the remainder of the day, and to take things very easy,” he replied, “but when my baby brother gets a proverbial burr under his saddle . . . . ” He raised his face to the heavens, with a wry roll of the eyes. “Joe was . . . and IS . . . convinced that Benjy, OUR Benjy’s life depended on him getting into town and doing a bit of historical research about the family who lived here before us . . . and, upon finding out what he did, paid Father Brendan a visit--- ”

“ . . . in order to find out what to do about it,” Teresa finished. “Adam, to be absolutely honest, I don’t WANT to ask this next question, but I must . . . mainly because Joe, although young and . . . and very much like Miguel in many ways . . . . ” She shook her head, perplexed and bewildered. “If HE believes there’s a ghost . . . not that I’m completely ruling out the possibility of a good sound LOGICAL explanation somewhere . . . . ” This last she added very quickly, with a touch of defiance.

“I understand, Sweetheart.”

Teresa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What . . . exactly, did Joe tell you about this other Benjy . . . this supposed ghost of a boy who died when he was just a little older than our son now?” she asked reluctantly.

Adam told Teresa everything he knew about Benjy Menken, and about the strange, frightening incidents that had centered around Joe at the age thirteen. “At the time, Joe honest and truly believed that Pa wasn’t his father and that Hoss and I weren’t really his brothers,” Adam continued. “The things Joe felt then . . . are very close to what our son has been feeling . . . starting from around the time you and I left Sacramento. Those feelings have apparently roused Benjy Menken’s ghost from its slumber . . . when JOE was thirteen AND now . . . because BENJY’S grief stricken . . . lonely . . . frightened . . . and very angry.”

Teresa silently mulled over and digested everything Adam had just shared with her. There was so much to take in. “ . . . so much,” she mused silently. For so long, for as long as she could remember in fact, she had believed as her father did in the things that could be seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and touched, leaving things of the spirit to her devout mother and her oldest brother, Ricardo, the mystic in the family.

“Teresa?” Adam gently prompted, at length, as his wife began to pace slowly in front of the closed door to his old room, with head bowed and arms folded tight across her chest. “Teresa, please . . . talk to me?”

She stopped, and when she turned, he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears. “Adam,” she sobbed, “ever since . . . ever since that set-to between the kids in the b-barn, and . . . and finding out about Benjy’s dismal report c-card, I . . . I’ve been wracking my brains trying to find a sign . . . something that w-would’ve indicated that . . . that something was t-terribly wrong . . . . ”

“Did you find anything?”

Teresa vigorously shook her head, unable to speak.

“I haven’t either,” Adam said very quietly, drawing a sharp look of surprise from his wife.

“Oh, Adam, I . . . I’ve n-never . . . in m-my whole life ever . . . f-felt so . . . so helpless,” she continued, weeping piteously, “I-I’m like a . . . a b-boat cast adrift . . . with no rudder . . . n-no mast or s-sail . . . not even a single star in the n-night sky to . . . to guide me . . . to tell me where I am . . . where I . . . where I might b-be heading . . . . ”

“I know exactly how you feel, Sweetheart,” Adam said softly, his own voice breaking, as he gathered his wife into his arms, “because I . . . I feel the same way.” He felt her pressing very close, her arms tightening about his waist with strength born of terror and desperation.

“Adam?”

“Yes, Teresa?”

“I . . . most of the t-time I . . . I have a l-lot of difficulty believing in G-God,” she sobbed. “You think m-maybe . . . YOU c-could believe . . . f-for the both of us?”

It was a concession of great significance on her part. “I’ll d-do my best,” he promised, his voice shaking, “but there’s one thing I . . . that I want you to remember, n-no . . . no matter what happens . . . . ”

“What’s that?” she asked very softly, her head dropping down onto his broad chest.

“That you and I are in this together,” Adam replied. “I’m here, Sweetheart . . . and I’m going to stay . . . right here . . . f-for better or . . . or for worse.”

 

 _He turned away from his parents, standing in the hallway outside their room, clinging to one another, as if for dear life. He wanted to cry, would have given just about anything at that very moment to be able to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come._

 _“Don’t believe them,” a cold, angry voice said. It was Benjy. The other Benjy. He stood right in front of him, with a pair of tight fists planted firmly on his hips, with a defiant scowl on his face. “It’s an act, Stupid Head. Can’t you see that?!”_

 _“How do YOU know?” he demanded._

 _“Awww fer---!! It don’t take a genius to see what’s what, you dumb stupid,” the other Benjy responded, punctuating his words with a long-suffering sigh and a sarcastic roll of the eyes heavenward._

 _“Go away,” he growled, weary of this game, this dream, this . . . whatever it was, weary of his new friend deriding nearly everything he said or did as stupid._

 _“Let’s play!” the other Benjy said, all sunshine and light, every last trace of the anger and disdain so present a moment ago, now gone._

 _“No.”_

 _“Come on . . . please?” the other Benjy wheedled. “I’m sorry I called you stupid head . . . . ”_

 _“No. I don’t want to play because . . . because this game’s not fun anymore,” he told his new friend, his voice filled with remorse._

 _“You SAID you wanted to make ‘em all sorry . . . . ”_

 _“I know . . . and I did,” he admitted. “I wanted to make my sister the sorriest of all, but I didn’t. I . . . I think I’ve made ME the sorriest one of all.”_

 _The other Benjy laughed. “Tag, you’re it!” he cried, tapping him on the shoulder. He pivoted and ran down the long hallway toward the top of the stairs. “Catch me if you can,” he taunted._

 _A part of him longed to chase after the other Benjy, but another part, one just as strong, wanted to stay here with his mother and father, with grandpa and grandmother, and yes, even with his hated sister, Dio._

 _“Benjy . . . come ON!” the other boy urged . . . ._

 

“What in the world is taking Adam so LONG?!” Dolores softly fretted, as she paced back and forth in front of the staircase, casting an occasional furtive glance up into the dim hallway above the top landing, wringing her hands in dismay. “Time is of the essence! I thought Adam KNEW that . . . . ”

“Pa . . . . ” Joe groaned very softly. He threw aside the Indian blanket covering and tried to rise from his place on the settee.

“Oh no you don’t, Li’l Brother,” Hoss said, weary yet very firm. He gently placed both hands on Joe’s shoulders effectively restraining him, while Stacy retrieved the Indian blanket from its place on the floor.

“But--- ”

“You’ve done all y’ can, Joe,” Hoss said.

“But, if I added MY two cents to what Adam’s tryin’ t’ say, maybe . . . just maybe . . . he and I could move that conversation along a bit,” Joe argued, while struggling mightily to pry Hoss’ hands and fingers off of his shoulders.

“ . . . ‘n you MIGHT just as easily stall that conversation by doin’ or sayin’ somethin’ t’ get Teresa’s back up,” Hoss wisely pointed out. “The rest of us have just plain gotta stay put right where we are, ‘n trust Adam enough t’ let HIM do what he’s gotta.”

“Hoss is right, Grandpa,” Stacy said very quietly, as she placed the blanket back over Joe, “and besides . . . the three of us are clear up to our necks in hot water already, without . . . one of us charging upstairs after Pa told us all to stay right here.”

“But Dolores is right about time being of the essence,” Joe argued, throwing off the blanket once again.

“I know, Li’l Brother,” Hoss replied, “but I also trust Adam.”

“I don’t know Adam very well yet, what with having just met him six weeks ago,” Stacy added, “but I think I’ve gotten to know him well enough to trust him right now, too.”

In the meantime, Ben had risen from the leather upholstered port wine chair next to the fireplace with a sigh and walked over to the fearful, distraught woman, still pacing before the bottom of the stairs. “Now, Dolores . . . . ” he began in a calm, placating tone of voice, “Adam’s doing the best--- ”

“I’m sure he is, but Teresa . . . that daughter of mine can be more stubborn than all the mules making up a twenty mule train put together,” Dolores sputtered angrily.

Ben wisely refrained from making an observation about mother and daughter being cut from the same bolt of cloth in that regard.

“I’ve got a good mind to go up there myself and--- ”

“Dolores, that’s not going to help one bit and YOU know it,” Ben said, hoping against hope to forestall a long, heated diatribe, “and you pacing up and down, back and forth, like . . . well, like a caged wild animal isn’t going to hurry things along either. Now . . . . ” He gently took her hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his arm. “ . . . why don’t you come on over here with the rest of us, and--- ”

“Don’t you patronize me, Ben Cartwright!” Dolores exhorted in a lofty, imperious tone of voice, raised a few notches higher in volume than was normal. She snatched her hand well away with a dramatic, sweeping gesture, then for a moment, stood, unmoving, favoring Ben with a withering glare that would have sent any one of the servants, she and Eduardo employed back home in Sacramento, scurrying for the nearest cover. “Don’t you DARE patronize me!”

“Dolores, Teresa needs time,” Ben pressed. “All this business of . . . of the ghost of boy many years dead looking for someone to keep him company . . . well, for a woman, very practical and very much down to earth like Teresa, it’s a lot to take in.”

“ . . . and while SHE’S so busy trying to take it all in, MY grandson lies upstairs DYING!” Dolores declared with a curt nod of her head for emphasis. “Ben . . . so help me . . . if she’s up there stonewalling--- ” She immediately turned heel and started up the stairs, with back ramrod straight, and a fierce, angry, determined look on her face.

She was nearly half way to the middle landing when Ben caught up with her.

“Ben, get OUT of my way!”

“Dolores, please . . . . ” Ben pleaded, though he did not move.

“I am NOT going to let MY grandson die because . . . because my daughter insists on being proud and stiff-necked at a time she should be humble, and down on her knees,” Dolores raged.

Ben reached out and seized firm hold of her forearm. “In case you’ve  
forgotten, Benjy’s MY grandson, too,” he reminded his eldest son’s mother-in-law in a tone of voice harder than steel, “and, perhaps more important . . . he’s TERESA’S SON . . . Teresa’s and Adam’s.” He closed his eyes, and forced himself to count to ten.

“Dolores, I know exactly how you feel,” he continued, “because, I’M feeling the same things myself.” It took nearly every ounce of strength he possessed to speak to her in a calmer, more subdued tone of voice. “I’m deeply concerned about Benjy, but I’m even more concerned about his parents. Right now my son and your daughter are facing the prospect of losing a child. I’ve had to face that many times with all three of my sons, and with my daughter, too.”

“As have I,” Dolores said, her voice colder than ice.

“Well if you can think back, remember what you felt . . . what you went through all those times, maybe you can summon from within yourself a measure of what that frightened, bewildered, and grief-stricken mother and father upstairs need from us most right now,” Ben replied, unable to quite keep back all of the impatience and anger now rising within him.

“ . . . and what might that be?” she demanded imperiously.

“Compassion.”

“Ben? Mrs. di Cordova?”

Dolores silently, inwardly groaned. It was Father Rutherford. She had entirely forgotten he was even there. The priest stood at the bottom of the steps with his hand lightly resting on the finial atop the newel post, his face schooled into a mask of stoic calm. Shamefaced, she snatched her arm from Ben’s grip.

“ . . . if I might offer a suggestion?” Father Brendan continued.

“Of course, Father,” Dolores murmured softly, unable to quite bring herself to look him straight in the eye.

“I’m listening, Brendan,” Ben said stiffly.

“Mrs. di Cordova, I’ve often found prayer to be of great comfort and assurance, most especially in times, places, and under circumstances when I knew I had nothing to offer, that there was nothing more I could do, as a priest or as a human being,” Father Brendan said. “I would be honored if you would consent to join me?”

“Yes,” Dolores readily agreed. “Yes, I would like that very much, Father. Thank you.” She edged her way past Ben, and started back down the stairs.

“Ben?”

“Yes, Brendan?”

“Can you suggest a quiet place, free from distractions, where Mrs. di Cordova and I might go?”

“Yes . . . the porch out back, overlooking Hop Sing’s garden,” Ben immediately replied. “It’s quiet back there . . . VERY quiet, and peaceful.”

“Thank you, Ben,” Father Brendan said quietly. “You’ll let us know when Adam and Teresa are . . . . ”

“Yes,” Ben promised. “I’ll let you know.” He waited, allowing Father Brendan and Dolores ample time to traverse through the kitchen and find their way out into the vegetable and herb garden, Hop Sing maintained out back. “Hoss . . . Joe . . . Stacy . . . . ”

“Yes, Pa?” Hoss responded. The other two merely looked up at him, expectant, and waiting.

“I’m going to go upstairs and look in on your brother and sister-in-law,” he said quietly. “I expect the three of ya to remain right there. Understood?”

A soft, barely audible chorus of “yes pa,” followed in response.

Satisfied, Ben turned and walked resolutely toward the stairs.

Joe waited until Ben had finally reached the top of the stairs and disappeared from view into the hallway beyond. “Stacy . . . Hoss, come on,” he urged, his voice not much above the volume and decibel of a stage whisper.

“Wherever it is you THINK you’re goin’ . . . forget it!” Hoss said. He slowly folded his big, well-muscled arms across his chest, and from the high vantage point given him by his height, he favored his younger brother with a menacing glare. “Pa told us to wait right here, and that’s EXACTLY what we’re gonna do.”

“Hoss is right, Grandpa,” Stacy, seated on the coffee table, said morosely. “The three of us are in more than enough trouble right now as it is.”

“Please!” Joe begged. “There’s something we . . . something I’VE gotta do, but I . . . I can’t do it by myself.”

“You’d better not be thinkin’ ‘bout another trip to Virginia City,” Hoss warned. “ ‘Cause if you are, Li’l Brother, so help me--- ”

“No, Hoss . . . behind the barn, inside that circle of trees.”

Stacy shuddered. “You want to go out to THAT creepy place?!” she demanded, incredulous.

“Stacy . . . Hoss, they’re out there,” Joe pressed. “They are, I KNOW they are.”

Stacy and Hoss exchanged glances filled with apprehension and dread.

“ . . . uhhhh . . . WHO’S out there, Li’l Brother?” Hoss ventured, not wanting to ask, yet afraid of not asking.

“Benjy Menken and . . . Benjy Cartwright.”

Hoss stared down at his younger brother with mounting dread, fearing that Joe had taken complete leave of his senses. “Joe, listen to me . . . please,” he begged, “Benjy Cartwright . . . our nephew . . . is upstairs . . . in Adam ‘n Teresa’s room.”

“His BODY is,” Joe argued. “But his spirit? Soul? Whatever it is that makes Benjy Cartwright . . . his own man . . . ok, for now BOY . . . that part of Benjy Cartwright is outside with Benjy MENKEN in that circle of trees.”

“Joe, that’s crazy talk!” Hoss declared, convinced now that the bump on the head had left his brother permanently unhinged.

“No crazier than anything ELSE that’s been going on around here lately,” Stacy hastened to point out.

Hoss silently mulled the whole matter over, in light of his sister’s words. “Yeah,” he said at length. “Yeah, you’re right about THAT, Li’l Sister.”

“Grandpa, how do you know Benjy Cartwright and Benjy Menken are out in that tree circle behind the barn?” Stacy asked as she and Hoss gently helped ease Joe from a sitting to a prone position. “Did you see ‘em?”

“From talking to Mrs. Wilkens and Mrs. Dennison, I . . . to be honest, Stace, I don’t know this for absolute certain, but I think Benjy Menken’s body lies buried out there.”

“Hmmm. Maybe that’s why that place has always seemed so creepy.” Stacy shuddered again.

“I’ve never liked that place, either,” Joe said, “and I’m sure you can’t help BUT notice the way our horses give that place wide berth.”

“Well . . . now that I think about it . . . drowning in hot water’s no better or worse than being scalded by it,” Stacy sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable.

“I don’t know ‘bout that,” Hoss countered soberly, “but, if it means the difference between whether Benjy Cartwright lives or . . . or not . . . . ”

 

As Ben drew near to the closed door at the far end of the hallway upstairs, he was surprised to find Dio sitting on the floor, huddled in the dim shadows, just to the right, with her face pressed tight to her knees. He quickened his pace slightly, and upon reaching his granddaughter, he knelt down in front of her.

“Dio?” Ben called to her very softly, hoping not to unduly frighten or startle the child.

Dio gasped. She raised her head and for a moment peered up at him through eyelids red and swollen. “Oh,” she finally sighed, relief evident in her voice. “It’s . . . it’s y-you, Grandpa . . . . ” she half sobbed.

“What are you doing out here?” Ben asked, as he settled himself on the floor beside the distraught little girl.

“I’m scared,” she replied, in a voice barely audible.

Ben placed his arm around Dio’s shoulders and drew her close.

“It’s MY fault, Grandpa,” Dio sobbed as she nestled in close to her grandfather. “It’s all MY fault Benjy’s sick ‘n he’s . . . he’s . . . h-he’s gonna die . . . . ”

“Now who said anything about Benjy dying?” Ben asked, speaking with far more confidence than he felt.

“He IS, Grandpa . . . the mean boy said so . . . ‘n he told me it’s all MY fault ‘cause I . . . I . . . . ” Dio turned and cast a quick, furtive glance at the closed door to her parents’ room. “Oh, G-Grandpa,” she lowered her voice, to just barely above the volume of the softest whisper.

Ben leaned over, straining to hear his granddaughter’s next words.

“ . . . it’s all m-my fault ‘cause I . . . I wished Benjy dead, ‘cause he’s been so mean!”

Ben could feel his blood boil within him. He knew that children could be cruel, but telling a little girl that she was to blame for her older brother falling ill, and . . . possibly . . . dying . . . in his humble opinion, that went ‘way above and beyond the pale. He silently vowed that should the mean boy his granddaughter had just spoken of turn out to be a living child, rather than the ghost of a boy long dead, he would give that child and both of his parents the tanning of their lives.

“Dio,” he said, in as calm and steady a voice as he could muster, “first of all, though we know Benjy’s very sick, we DON’T know that he’s going to die, and second . . . even if he . . . even if he does, heaven forbid! . . . it’s NOT your fault.”

“Yes, it is, Grandpa,” the child tearfully insisted.

“Why? Because you wished him dead?”

Dio very solemnly nodded her head.

“Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me . . . and pay very close attention to what I have to tell ya,” Ben begged. “Promise me you’ll do that?”

“I promise.”

Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You just got through telling me that you’d wished Benjy dead because he was being mean,” he began. “You must’ve been pretty mad at him.”

“Yeah . . . I s’pose I was . . . . ”

“Dio, often when people get mad at each other, they say things . . . terrible things, sometimes . . . that they don’t really mean,” Ben tried desperately to explain. “After they get over being mad, they feel bad about the things they said. Now, I know . . . deep down, I KNOW . . . that you love your brother very much. You said what you did because you were mad at him, but I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, yes, I did,” she replied.

“Are you sorry now that you thought and said those things?”

Dio nodded. “I t-told that mean boy so, but . . . h-he said ‘cause I w-wished Benjy dead . . . he’s gonna die, and it doesn’t matter none that I’m sorry.”

“This . . . mean boy, whoever he is . . . lied to ya, Sweetheart,” Ben said. “We don’t know why Benjy’s sick . . . where he might’ve caught the germs that’ve made him sick, but I . . . WE . . . do know this. Benjy is NOT sick because of something you wished for in the heat of anger. Promise me you’ll remember that?”

Dio wiped her eyes against the heel of her hand. “I’ll try, Grandpa.”

“Good.” Ben rose to his feet, then turned and offered the girl his hand. “Now why don’t the two of us go look in on your mother, father, and brother?”

“Ok, Grandpa,” she agreed, as she also rose to her feet and slipped her tiny hand into Ben’s much larger one, “but the mean boy won’t like it.” She edged closer to her grandfather, and cast a quick, furtive over her shoulder.

“Dio, right now, you need to be with your family . . . and they need you there, too,” Ben said, “and if the mean boy doesn’t like it . . . that’s his tough luck.”

 

“Benjy? Benjy Menken? I want to talk to you,” Joe called out in a firm, clear voice as he limped into the circle of tall, ancient ponderosa pine trees out behind the Cartwrights’ barn. Hoss followed close at his heels, with Stacy slowly, reluctantly bringing up the rear. “I KNOW you’re out here.”

The gentle breeze, wafting through the pine branches scant seconds ago, suddenly stilled. An uneasy, all pervading silence descended upon them all. Joe, Hoss, and Stacy instinctively moved in closer to one another.

 _He turned at the sound of his name, his whole name first and last, in shock and astonishment. It was the little one, the one from before, who treated him badly, worse than his own pa had treated him. He had yelled at him, told him to go away._

 _“That’s Uncle Joe,” his new friend and playmate said. “Uncle Joe, Uncle Hoss, and Aunt Stacy. I wonder what they’re doing here?”_

 _“Go away,” the other Benjy said, his anger rising. “Go away and leave us alone. We don’t want you here.”_

 _“I’m NOT going to go away, Benjy Menken,” Joe said, as he moved in toward the center of the circle. “Not this time.”_

 _“We don’t want you here.”_

“Benjy Menken may not want me here, but what about Benjy CARTWRIGHT?” Joe demanded.

 _“I TOLD you to GO AWAY!” the other Benjy said, his rising anger fueled now by fear. “I don’t want you here! I HATE you.”_

“Benjy . . . Benjy Menken, I’m sorry,” Joe said, as a chill shot down the entire length of his spine. “I’m sorry you . . . that you had to die so young . . . . ”

 _Benjy Cartwright looked over at his friend through eyes round with alarm. “Y-you’re DEAD, Benjy?” he asked._

 _“No.”_

 _“Uncle Joe just said you were.”_

 _“He’s LYING.”_

 _“No,” Benjy Cartwright resolutely shook his head. “Uncle Joe wouldn’t lie to me.”_

 _“He is so too lying. Don’t listen to him.”_

“ . . . I’m also sorry you’ve been so terribly lonely for all these years,” Joe continued, “and for my not understanding when you made your presence known before. It’s not fair that you had to die so young, before having had the chance to know very much of life . . . . ”

 _“SHUT-UP!” Benjy Menken yelled. “SHUT-UP, DO YOU HEAR ME? SHUT-UP!”_

 _“Benjy, I . . . I don’t want to die,” Benjy Cartwright said, staring over at his friend through eyes round with terror._

 _“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM,” the other Benjy rounded on his companion giving full vent to the rage, the frustration, and the fear within him. “HE’S LYING!”_

Suddenly, a strong, powerful wind began to blow within the circle of pine trees, a chill wind, steadily rising in volume and intensity.

“IT’S ALSO NOT FAIR TO TAKE BENJY CARTWRIGHT BEFORE HIS TIME,” Joe shouted that he might be heard above the roar of the wind. “DO YOU HEAR ME, BENJY MENKEN?!”

 _“SHUT-UP, SHUT-UP, SHUT-UP! ” Benjy Menken shouted, trying to drown out Joe’s words and the truth that lay within them. “SHUT-UP AND GO AWAY! WE HATE YOU! WE HATE YOUR LOUSY, ROTTEN, STINKIN’ GUTS!”_

 _“BENJY CARTWRIGHT, I KNOW YOU’RE HERE AND I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME,” Joe continued. “BENJY, PLEASE . . . DON’T GO WITH HIM. NOT LIKE THIS! IT’S NOT YOUR TIME. DO YOU HEAR ME? IT’S NOT YOUR TIME!”_

 _“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM!” Benjy Menken yelled. “DON’T LISTEN TO HIM.”_

 _“But . . . I don’t WANT to die.”_

 _Benjy Menken, his face contorted with a mixture of rage and fear balled his fist and punched Joe in the stomach hard, with all his might._

Joe groaned and dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Stacy was at her brother’s side within less than a heartbeat, watching in horror as another bruise appeared on his cheek and red welts, forming the rough horseshoe shape of human teeth suddenly appeared in his hand. She gathered him in her arms and held him close, trying to shield his body with her own as much as possible.

“BENJY MENKEN, YOU COWARDLY ****!!” That last word was one of the more vile Paiute obscenities. “LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE! YOU HEAR ME?” she shouted, her face darkening with anger. A hard punch to her stomach drove the wind from her own lungs. Gasping for breath, she edged closer to Joe, trying desperately to shield him with her own body. A rain of rock hard, angry, invisible fists pummeled her back and shoulders.

Hoss, upon hearing Stacy cry out, immediately rushed over toward his brother and sister. “ALRIGHT, BENJY MENKEN, YOU LISTEN T’ ME ‘N YOU LISTEN REAL GOOD!” he shouted as he dragged his stricken brother and sister into the protective circle of his own massive, strong arms. “I’M SORRY FOR YA . . . I AM! BUT Y’ GOT NO RIGHT T’ TAKE BENJY CARTWRIGHT . . . ‘N YA GOT NO RIGHT T’ HURT MY BROTHER ‘N SISTER.”

The response to Hoss’ words was a hard punch in the eye, with sufficient force to knock him off his feet. He fell to the ground hard, landing on his backside, taking Joe and Stacy over with him.

 _“Benjy, no! Stop it! You hear me? Stop it!” Benjy Cartwright begged. “Leave them alone!”_

 _“I HATE them! I hate them ALL!” the other Benjy sobbed._

 _“Why?”_

 _“Because I do.”_

 _“WHY?!”_

 _“BECAUSE,” Benjy Menken shouted. “JUST BECAUSE.”_

“Benjy Menken, beatin’ up on my brother, my sister, ‘n me ain’t gonna change things,” Hoss pressed. “You hear me?”

 _“NO!” Benjy Menken clapped his hands tight over his ears._

“ . . . ‘cause you’re still gonna be dead, ‘n Benjy CARTWRIGHT’S gonna be alive.”

 _“NO! Benjy Cartwright’s gonna stay here with me.”_

 _“NO!” Benjy Cartwright shouted. “NOT IF I HAVE TO DIE! I DON’T WANT TO STAY WITH YOU, IF I HAVE TO DIE, TOO.”_

 _“You better,” Benjy Menken turned on Benjy Cartwright. “You better stay with me, or else.”_

 _“Or else WHAT?”_

 _“Or else THEY’LL die. All of ‘em! Your two uncles, your aunt, your ma and pa, your grandma and grandpa, the Chinese man, even your sister. I’ll kill them all, if you don’t stay with me. I’ll kill ‘em all!”_

 _Benjy Cartwright stared over at the other Benjy Menken, horrified._

 _A smug, triumphant smile spread slowly across the other Benjy’s face. “I can do it, too,” he continued. “Don’t think I can’t.”_

“Benjy, that’s ENOUGH.”

Hoss and Stacy turned. There, standing behind them at the edge of the pine tree circle, stood an old woman. She strode into the circle of trees, moving at a brisk pace, her posture straight and tall.

“Hoss . . . Joe . . . who’s THAT?” Stacy queried with a bewildered frown.

“That’s Mrs. Smith,” Hoss replied. “She’s spent a whole lotta years keepin’ house at the convent . . . helpin’ the nuns with their hospital, ‘n all . . . . ”

“I thought Molly and Susannah told me she was sick . . . very sick,” Stacy said.

“She’s gotten better . . . obviously,” Joe said. “She rode out in the buggy with Father Brendan, Mrs. di Cordova, and me . . . then disappeared. I was wondering where she’d gotten herself off to . . . . ”

Lee Smith passed Hoss, Joe, and Stacy, without sparing so much as a glance, or a nod of her head to acknowledge their presence. She strode resolutely toward the center of the circle. “Benjy, did you hear me? I SAID that’s enough.”

 

 _Benjy stared up at the woman through eyes round with complete and utter astonishment. She had red hair when he saw her last, and the lines and planes of her face, though weary, had always been set so firmly with the fierce, stubborn pride that had lent her strength enough to do anything. Absolutely anything. Now the fierceness, the pride was gone, replaced by a profound sadness that permeated her entire being._

 _“Benjy,” the woman addressed Benjy Menken in a far kindlier tone. “It’s time to go.”_

 _“No.” Benjy Menken drew back in terror._

 _“We don’t belong here anymore.”_

 _“No! I don’t WANT to go. I want to stay here.”_

 _“Why?”_

 _“Because I want to.”_

 _“WHY do you want to?” Lee demanded._

 _The deep, aching sadness in her voice made Benjy Menken feel like crying himself. “I . . . . I have a friend to play with now,” he said._

 _“Benjy, I told you. I don’t want to die,” Benjy Cartwright reiterated his wishes._

 _“I thought you were my friend,” Benjy Menken pouted._

 _“I am. I WANT to stay and play with you, but not if I have to die.”_

 _“I hate you, Benjy Cartwright. I hate you, I hate you, I HATE you.”_

 _Benjy Cartwright winced upon hearing the other Benjy’s voice catch on the last ‘HATE,’ uttered with such vehemence. “I’m sorry you died, Benjy,” he said. “It wasn’t fair you had to die when you were just a kid. I’m sorry because of all the years you’ve been here by yourself . . . because no one could see you or hear you. I’m . . . I’m also sorry they had to go away and . . . and j-just leave you here. But, I still don’t want to die, and it’s not fair for you to make me.”_

 _“Your friend needs to go back, Benjy,” Lee said firmly. “He needs to go back to his family, his friends, his whole life.”_

 _“What about ME?”_

 _“Your brother and sisters are waiting. I will be there, too. You will never, ever be lonely . . . not ever again.”_

 _“I don’t wanna go. I’m afraid.”_

 _“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Lee smiled and held out her hand. “We can go together, Benjy. You and me. You take my hand and hold on real tight, and we’ll go together.”_

 _“Promise?”_

 _“I promise.”_

 _“P-Promise you . . . you won’t let go?”_

 _“I promise. I’ll be holding on to your hand very tight, Benjy.”_

Benjy Menken took the woman’s hand in both of his and clung as if for dear life. She smiled and slipped her arm about his shoulders and drew him close. With an agonized, heart wrenching cry, he buried his face against her chest and held on for a very, long time.

Stacy saw them, through the eyes of mind and heart. The barefoot boy, with brown curly hair, clad now in a pair of overalls, clung desperately to the white haired woman. She embraced him fiercely in return, bending her head toward his, finally resting her face upon the crown of his head. Stacy remembered then, the day they laid her mother, Paris McKenna, to her final rest not so terribly long ago. She had not only lost her mother, but came very close to losing her father as well. Not to death of the body, but to the guilt that overwhelmed him.

Her own eyes burned with tears, remembering how she and Pa had held onto one another in the woods surrounding the lake near the place Paris McKenna was buried, with the same fierce desperation she saw Benjy Menken and the woman, her brothers had identified as Lee Smith, now holding onto one another.

Joe watched, with tears streaming down his own face, as the woman pressed her lips against the top of Benjy’s head.

 _“I’m here, Benjy.”_

Joe heard the woman’s words very clearly, very succinctly, as if they had been spoken aloud.

 _“I’m here, Benjy. I will always be here. I will never, ever leave you again.”_

The woman’s words, spoken clearly in a very gentle, very sad voice, reminded Joe of another night, and of another little boy with brown, curly hair, and “eyes that can change color,” to quote Mrs. Wilkens. That little boy’s mother had died seven going on eight months ago.

Less than a month after she had been laid to her final rest, Pa was gone, too.

 

 _“Why, Adam? Why did Pa leave us? Don’t he love us no more?” he demanded that terrible morning he woke up and found that Pa had left on what, from all appearances, promised to be a very long trip._

 _“Of course he loves us, Little Buddy,” Adam stoutly declared. “But, Pa needs some time alone right now to . . . to . . . . ”_

 _Adam frowned, trying, no doubt, to find the words to form an explanation for their father’s abrupt departure in the middle of the night, that his five-year-old brother could understand._

 _“Papa need time by himself,” Hop Sing said very quietly. Neither he nor Adam had any idea the Chinese man was there, standing in the shadows, listening. “Papa need time, get over being so terrible sad.”_

 _The look on Adam’s face was one Joe now recognized as being full of deep, profound relief, and gratitude._

 _“When’s Pa gonna come back?” Joe tearfully asked, looking from Adam to Hop Sing, then back again to Adam._

 _“I don’t know, Buddy,” Adam replied, “but he WILL be back. That I promise you.”_

 

He remembered that Pa had communicated with them regularly the first couple of months he was away, by wire mostly, and the occasional letter.

Then, nothing.

Adam had written a letter and mailed it to the last known address Pa had been living. The envelope came back, unopened, with “return to sender” stamped boldly over the address. His oldest brother had also dispatched wires to a few people his father knew. Only one had the courtesy to respond. Short and to the point, it read, “Ben Cartwright gone. Left no forwarding address. Sorry.”

As Joe’s sixth birthday approached, Pa had been gone nearly eight months, and despite Adam and Hop Sing’s declarations to the contrary, he had begun to doubt that his father would ever return home again. He remembered going to bed early the night before his birthday, and waking up from one of the worst nightmares ever.

But, it wasn’t Adam or Hop Sing who came to him that night . . . .

 

 _It was Pa, filled with remorse and deep regret, with tears streaming freely down his cheeks. Joe stiffened and tried to pull away when Pa reached out to gather him in his arms._

 _But Pa held fast. “I’m sorry, Little Joe,” Pa sobbed. “I . . . know I hurt you . . . and your brothers by . . . by leaving the way I did. If you c-can’t forgive me now, I . . . I understand, but I want you to know I . . . that I’m here now. I’m here NOW, Son, I’m here now . . . . ”_

 

The next thing Joe knew, his tiny arms were wrapped tight about his father’s waist, clinging for dear life, as Benjy Menken now clung to Mrs. Smith.

 _Finally, after what had seemed an eternity, yet was merely the passage of but a few seconds, Benjy Menken and the white haired woman separated. The latter, still clinging to the former’s hand, turned toward Benjy Cartwright. “I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m glad we could be friends for a little while.”_

 _“Me, too. Good-bye, Benjy . . . . ”_

A strange vision played itself out within Hoss’ mind. He saw the woman take the hand of a frightened, lonely young boy, barefoot, dressed in overalls, with no shirt. His hair was brown and curly, so very much like his younger brother’s. Together, hand-in-hand, woman and boy walked toward the center of the circle, toward a brilliant ball of silver-white light. As they drew near, the light seemed to grow and expand, surrounding them, as a mother or father wraps their arms around their newborn baby. Lee Smith and Benjy Menken slowly merged with the light, until finally, they and the light disappeared.

Unable to move, barely daring even to breathe, Hoss remained, kneeling on the ground, with his arms wrapped tight around his younger siblings and eyes riveted to the spot where the ball of light stood in the center of the circle. “Hoooo-wheee!” he murmured softly, reverently, when at long last, he had recovered his voice. “That was some dream.”

His words drew a look of surprise from his sister. “Y-You m-mean . . . you saw it, too?”

“Too?”

Stacy nodded.

“Yeah, I saw it, too, Li’l Sister,” Hoss replied.

“S-So did I,” Joe groaned in a voice, barely audible.

 

Upstairs, Benjy Cartwright opened one eye, winced, then squeezed it shut for a moment.

“Ma? Pa?” It was Dio. Her voice sounded choked somehow, as if she had been crying.

“What is it, Dio?”

“It’s Benjy, Pa. I thought I saw him move.”

“Benjy?”

Upon hearing the sound of his mother’s voice, he turned and slitted his eyes open. He knew from the angry red cheeks, the swollen eyes lids and upper lip, and the redness under her eyes, that she had been crying.

“Benjy!?” Teresa called to him again, her voice filled with great trepidation edged by a small measure of hope.

“M-Mother?” Benjy responded, surprised and frightened at how weak and hoarse his voice sounded in his ears.

Teresa immediately gathered her son in her arms and hugged him tight, as tears streamed freely, in great profusion, down her cheeks. “Oh, Benjy, Benjy, thank God!” she sobbed. “Thank God.”

“Welcome back, Buddy,” Adam said, his own voice breaking. He gathered his wife and son together with one arm and held out the other to his young daughter. With a heart-wrenching sob, Dio threw herself into her father’s embrace.

 

Ben wiped the tears from his own cheeks on the sleeve of his shirt, then rose, and crossed the room to the open door. As he stepped over the threshold between bedroom and hallway, he noiselessly closed the door behind him, leaving his oldest son alone with his wife and children.

A few moments later, he stepped out through the back door, onto the small porch overlooking Hop Sing’s vegetable and herb garden, and found Father Brendan Rutherford and Dolores di Cordova seated on the old bench set up against the house.

Dolores immediately shot right to her feet the instant she heard Ben’s footfalls on the porch. Father Brendan turned and glanced up. Dolores’ pale, weary tear stained face filled with dread apprehension presented a stark contrast to the near serene expectancy mirrored in the priest’s eyes and face.

“Benjy’s awake,” Ben said favoring his eldest son’s mother-in-law and old friend with a weary smile.

“Oh thank God,” Dolores murmured, vastly relieved and with deep, heartfelt gratitude. She started toward the kitchen door, moving at a surprisingly brisk pace, given a woman of her years.

Ben immediately moved toward her on an intercept course. “Not yet, Dolores,” he said quietly, placing restraining hands on both of her shoulders.

“But . . . . ”

“For the time being, I think they need to be together . . . by themselves . . . as a family. You and I can go up and look in on Benjy later.”

Dolores nodded. “All right, Ben,” she acquiesced reluctant, but seeing the wisdom in her host’s words. “In the meantime, I’d like to go upstairs to my room and perhaps rest awhile?”

“Of course,” Ben replied.

“I am pleased to have met you, Mrs. di Cordova, though I would have preferred better circumstances,” Father Brendan said with a smile.

“Agreed, Father,” Dolores said. “I hope we meet again soon.”

“I’m scheduled to celebrate The Mass every Wednesday morning for the next month or so,” the priest said. “You are more than welcome.”

“Thank you,” Dolores replied, before taking her leave.

“Well, Ben, it looks like you didn’t need my help after all,” Father Brendan said with a smile, after Dolores had gone back into the house, closing the door behind her.

“I’m a firm believer in the importance and the power of prayer, Brendan,” Ben said. “By inviting her to pray with you . . . that gave her something special to do, that served in keeping her well away from what was happening upstairs. After that set-to she and Teresa had earlier . . . . ” He shuddered.

“Then, I’m glad I COULD be of service. Unless you need me for anything else, I’d better find Mrs. Smith, and head on back to town.”

“There IS one more thing you can do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t be such a stranger,” Ben said with a warm smile. “It’s been awhile.”

“You’re right. It’s been too long,” the priest agreed. “Maybe you could have me over for supper some night after all your company has left.”

“We’ll do that,” Ben promised. “Come on, Brendan, I’ll walk you out.”

Upon reaching the front door, Ben opened it and was astonished to find his three younger children standing on the doorstep. “Wait a minute! What are you three doing HERE?” he demanded, suddenly remembering. “I thought I told you to— ”

His words, his entire train of thought, was rudely severed as Joe and Stacy moved forward and embraced him fiercely. Ben, though utterly dumbfounded, placed his own arms around them and held them close. He was even more surprised to feel the moistness of tears still on the cheeks of the son and daughter who filled the circle of his arms.

“Hoss . . . . ?!” As he glanced up at the biggest and most gentle of his offspring, Ben was astonished to see HIS blue eyes shining with the brightness of tears, yet unshed. “Wh-What’s . . . what’s wrong?”

“Ain’t n-nothin’ WRONG, Pa,” Hoss said, his voice breaking. “Everything’s . . . everything’s right now . . . everything’s all right.”

“B-Benjy Menken’s . . . gone,” Joe sobbed. “He’s . . . finally at peace.”

“ . . . and . . . OUR Benjy’s gonna be ok,” Stacy said, keeping one arm firmly about her father’s waist, and wiping her eyes with the heel of her other hand.

Ben took note of his daughter’s bruised and swollen right cheek, and the ragged bite on Joe’s hand with dismay. “What . . . what HAPPENED to the both of ya?”

“L-Long story, Pa,” Joe replied, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes and cheeks on his sleeve. “Can we tell you later?”

“I s’pose . . . . ” Ben murmured softly. “Now . . . wait a minute . . . where’d Hoss go?”

“We’ve got company comin’, Pa,” Joe replied. “Hoss went to see who.”

“More?”

Joe nodded.

“Be that as it may,” Ben sighed. “In the meantime, Young Fella . . . YOU are going back to bed where ya belong.”

“Aww, Pa . . . . ” Joe groaned.

“Don’t you ‘aww, Pa’ ME, Joseph Francis,” Ben said sternly. “I’ve got a real good mind to tell Doctor Martin about your trip into town earlier . . . . ”

Joe blanched. “Y-You wouldn’t!”

“Try me!” Ben challenged. “As for YOU, Young Woman,” he continued, turning his attention to Stacy. “You and your brother . . . your BIG brother that is, get to do Joe’s chores while he’s recovering as consequence for your part in allowing him to, in your words, ‘ride off half cocked.’ ”

“Yes, Pa,” Stacy replied, grateful that he hadn’t decided to haul the three of them out to the barn for a round of hard lessons from Pa Cartwright’s Board of Education applied to the Cartwright offspring’s tender seats of learning.

“ . . . and you can wipe that smug grin off your face, Young Man,” Ben turned and admonished his youngest son, as he, with the help of his daughter, dragged him over the threshold into the house. “ ‘Cause after YOU’RE fully recovered, you’re gonna be doing Hoss’ and Stacy’s chores, until I say otherwise.”

“Yes, Sir,” Joe gulped nervously, the smug, cat-that-ate-the-canary grin instantly evaporating.

Hoss, in the meantime, held Brother Algernon’s horse, while the portly monk dismounted, breathless and saddle sore from his long, hard ride from town.

“Thank you, Hoss,” Brother Algernon gasped, the instant both feet touched terra firma. “Father Brendan . . . is he . . . is he still here?”

“I’m right here, Brother Algernon,” the priest announced himself, as he crossed the small patch of yard lying between the front porch of the house and the hitching post near the trough. The sight of the monk’s red face and lathered horse brought an anxious frown to his face.

“Mother Catherine sent me after you,” Brother Algernon said, coming right to the point of his visit. “It’s Mrs. Smith.”

“I know,” Father Brendan said quietly. “She’s . . . well, I can’t in all honesty say she’s made a full, complete recovery once again, but she seems to have survived the worst well enough to have accompanied Joe, Mrs. di Cordova, and myself out here.”

His words drew a look of shocked astonishment from Brother Algernon. “F-Father, I . . . I don’t know who . . . or what r-rode out here with you . . . but I know it wasn’t Mrs. Smith.” He paused briefly to try and collect some small measure of his wits. “Father, Lee Smith died this afternoon . . . shortly before you left.”

 

Three days later, Ben Cartwright and his three younger children, Hoss, Joe, and Stacy, gathered at the Virginia City Cemetery with Georgianna Wilkens, Jenna Lee Dennison, and Father Brendan Rutherford. Joe stood between his father and sister, with his biggest brother standing directly behind. Though his wounds had begun to heal, and his bruises fade, he still experienced occasional bouts of lightheadedness. He was grateful beyond words for his father’s arm draped protectively across his shoulders, his sister’s wrapped securely about his waist, and for the massive, granite like presence of his big brother standing behind him. Georgianna Wilkens and Jenna Lee Dennison stood together on the other side of Ben.

Before them lay seven graves, newly opened, the smell of fresh turned earth still scenting the air. Seven coffins, ranging in size from adult to not larger than an infant or perhaps a toddler rested on the ground to the right of each newly opened grave. Father Brendan silently moved among the simple, pine box coffins, solemnly sprinkling each with holy water and blessing them with the sign of the cross. He then stepped behind the head of the largest coffin and opened the missal in his hands, as he turned to face the small gathering clustered together at the feet of all seven coffins.

“Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine,” the priest reverently, with sadness, intoned the final words of the Mass for the Dead, “et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace. Amen.”

“Amen,” the six gathered to mourn murmured very softly.

“Anima ejus, et animae omnium fidelium defunctorum, per miseric ordiam Dei requiescant in pace. Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Grant unto them eternal rest, O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon them,” Father Brendan ably translated the Latin into English. “May they rest in peace. May their souls, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Father Brendan nodded to the gravedigger, standing with shovel in hand a discreet distance from the mourners. The gravedigger nodded back the priest, then moved forward toward the seven coffins resting on the ground next to the opened graves.

“Father, you did a wonderful job, as always,” Georgianna said with heartfelt sincerity, as she and Jenna Lee, in turn, shook the priest’s hand. “That poor woman! All these years . . . . ”

“I’m just glad them poor children finally got a decent burial,” Jenna Lee declared with a dark angry scowl.

“Amen to THAT!” Georgianna voiced her wholehearted agreement.

“Would you folks like to return to the rectory with me and share a bottle of brandy?” Father Brendan asked.

“I’d love to, Father, but I’m afraid Jenna Lee and I must decline,” Geogianna said with much reluctance. “I thank you very much for the invitation. Perhaps another time?”

“You can count on it, Mrs. Wilkens . . . and you, too, Mrs. Dennison,” Father Brendan promised, before turning his attention to the Cartwrights. “Ben? How about you, Hoss, Joe, and Stacy?”

“Sorry, Brendan. Thank you for inviting us, but we need to be getting back home ourselves.”

“Father Brendan?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“Now lemme make sure I have all this straight. Mrs. Smith . . . the rectory housekeeper . . . was really Mrs. MENKEN?!”

Father Brendan nodded. “After Benjy died, the Menkens sold their farm to your pa, and left,” he explained. “They didn’t get very far, however. Their wagon went off the road just above Montpelier Gorge. The two women, the elder and the younger Mrs. Menken were found by Mother Anne Catherine . . . at the time she was the mother superior at the convent . . . on a return trip from visiting her sister in San Francisco. They were lying at the bottom of the gorge, amid what remained of their wagon and meager possessions. The elder Mrs. Menken was dead, and the younger, Mrs. Leah Menken, was ALMOST dead. Mother Anne, fortunately, had many, many years of nursing experience. She and the other nuns at the convent cared for the younger Mrs. Menken and nursed her back to health.”

“What happened to the Menken MEN?” Stacy queried.

“That . . . no one knows, Stacy, not for sure,” Father Brendan replied. “Mother Anne told us that both of the horses were gone and the men nowhere in sight. By all appearances, they had gone away, leaving their wives for dead.”

“They didn’t even stop to make sure?!” Stacy exclaimed, incredulous.

“As much as it pains me to say this, not stopping would have been in keeping with their character,” Father Brendan said with a sigh. “The Menken men, to put it very diplomatically, were very much wrapped up in themselves.”

“THAT being the case, Mrs. Smith . . . I mean Mrs. Menken was well RID of ‘em,” Joe declared, his face darkening with anger. “I’m sorry she had to loose her children and everything else.”

“Father Brendan, why did Mrs. Menken change her name to Smith?” Hoss asked.

“She feared what people would think,” Father Brendan replied. “As her children died, one by one, a lot of ignorant people swore up and down that the poor woman was cursed. Others went so far as to suggest that she may have been directly responsible for their deaths. Since the experience of watching helplessly as her children died one by one had turned her hair snow white, no one recognized her as being Mrs. Menken. The only ones who knew were myself, Mother Anne, may God rest HER soul, Mother Catherine, and a handful of the older sisters who were here at the time.”

“I know you, Mother Anne, Mother Catherine, and the sisters at the convent, gave her a good life with you,” Ben said quietly. “She was able to live out her days peacefully, looking after the people who had cared for her with love. No one could have given her a finer gift, Brendan.”

“Thank you, Ben.” The priest smiled. “Now, I like to think that she’s in Heaven, reunited with her children.”

“She IS, Father Brendan,” Joe said with a knowing smile. Hoss and Stacy nodded in agreement.

“Ben . . . . ”

“Yes, Brendan?”

“It was very generous of you to pay the funeral expenses for having Mrs. Menken and her children interred here . . . properly.”

“My regret is that I . . . well, that I didn’t do something to help Mrs. Menken with her children’s funeral expenses back then,” Ben said ruefully.

“Had you offered, she almost certainly would have turned you down. That woman had an enormous amount of pride, Lord love her,” Father Brendan said. “Just asking you to help her bury the children had to be excruciatingly humbling in and of itself.”

“So THAT’S how you knew where the Menken children were buried,” Joe said. “Jenna Lee told us you’d know, if anyone did.”

“It didn’t surprise ME any to find out that the area inside those trees was actually a cemetery,” Stacy said with a shudder. “I’ve always thought that spot to be kinda creepy.”

“Well it’s not anymore,” Joe said reassuringly. “It feels a lot different, more peaceful, somehow. I went out there this morning for a little while, before breakfast.”

“That’s a novelty, Son . . . YOU rising BEFORE breakfast,” Ben teased good-naturedly.

“Funny, Pa,” Joe retorted with a broad grin. “I even took Cochise into the circle, and he came right along, without the slightest hesitation.”

“Joseph, I thought Doctor Martin told you— ”

“I didn’t RIDE Cochise, Pa,” Joe said very quickly. “I didn’t even saddle him. I just slipped on his bridle and led him into that tree circle.”

“All right, Young Man,” Ben said severely, “but until Doc Martin gives the ok, I don’t want you anywhere NEAR the tack room. You understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m sorry Adam wasn’t able to join us,” Father Brendan said as he and the Cartwrights reached the cemetery gate. “Is Benjy . . . . ?”

“He’s still a little weak yet, but his recovery’s been nothing short of miraculous,” Ben replied. “Adam and Teresa took the kids and a great big picnic basket down to the lake this morning, with Paul Martin’s blessing. It seems you gave Adam a lot of food for thought the day he and Mrs. di Cordova came to see you. He and Teresa told me that the four of ‘em need time together . . . as a family . . . to talk about and work through some of the things that came up during his conversation with you.”

“I know they’re going to be all right, Ben,” Father Brendan said with confidence. “Adam, after all, learned about being a father from one of the best, if not THE best. As for Teresa . . . I have a feeling SHE learned from one of the best, too, her mother’s histrionics not withstanding. Please tell them I wish them all the best?”

“I will, Brendan,” Ben promised.

 

 

The End  
March 2003  
1st Revision November 2007  
2nd Revision August 2008

 

***

1\. Emily Pennington appears in Bonanza Episode #3, “The Newcomers,” written by Thomas Thompson.


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